The Furnace and Above
by The-Turducken-Affairs
Summary: Sam atones for his mistakes by saving the world. The Cage is a place of nightmares, and it tears him apart. Dean is left behind, safe and broken. They both face battles, but even so, their only solace is in each other. This is how it happens. Warnings for the Cage (torture and stuff). Really, this deals with what happened between season 5-6, but the Cage is mentioned up to s7.
1. Prologue (Once Upon a Prophecy)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**I hope you enjoy my story! I'm not yet sure how long it will be, but I suspect it will have a handful of chapters.**

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><p>There was a boy who was destined for terrible greatness.<p>

The blood of demon laid claim to him, calling forth a prophesized birthright.

Drawn forth by a lifetime of mirrored biblical reference and the promises of gospel, he was pulled into Lucifer's grasp.

The fallen angel from the beginning of creation was ruler of Hell and he wanted this boy. Angels of above roared for compliance to foretold scripture, pushing him off the path of Heaven.

The boy knew of anger, hurt, and pain, and his humanity came into question. Blood fell upon his tongue and he was compliant to a plan that called for his soul. This boy gave himself away one lie and good intention at a time.

One bloodied deed too many and deceit spilled over, reviving an evil of legends.

Lucifer rose and cried the boy's name across America, longing in his tone. The devil promised the boy the world and spread ill will along the way, whispering that it was destiny in the black of nights.

Croatoan would sicken humanity, to make a realm Lucifer could breathe in. Lucifer would be the purest, dressed in white and wearing the face of a once good man. Death would waft into his personal garden, a sick parody of what God's creation had once been. But not yet.

Passing time in terms of horsemen, the boy bore witness to the devastation of prophecy and blunders. Misdeeds had razed the world and he held the blame for it in his hands.

The boy became a man when he turned to family and fought to right his mistakes.

His dreams were haunting and his future nonexistent, but he still let his brother take comfort in telling him it would all work out. But it couldn't.

The curse of prophecy led him to Detroit and he said yes- the world was on fire, but he had the will to blow it out.

When the man said yes to end the devil, he remained alongside God's onetime favorite, hearing whispers in his ear ("_We're two halves made whole"_) for eternity and fell, further and further and forever.


	2. It Goes Like This

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**It hope everyone likes this!**

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><p>Dean is standing on the front porch of his one-time lover's house. He remembers her promising him a future, but he thinks she'll want to take it back when she sees him. He's a mess.<p>

He has just helped save the world. And he is all the more miserable for it. Inside he feels a hollow place and knows it will fill with anger, sadness, blood thirst, and bitterness. But Sam told him to come here and Lisa says she wants him. He figures he'll stay for a while.

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><p>A while becomes months.<p>

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><p>It goes like this:<p>

He drinks too much and she lets him.

He dreams of a reality passed and cannot find peace. She sleeps beside him, running her hands through his crew-cut. He learns to sleep through the nightmares.

He doesn't have a filter and Ben likes him for it. Lisa pretends to disapprove, but he thinks she finds the humor in it.

He turns from guest to friend to boyfriend in a matter of weeks, because he needs someone close and she has been waiting for him for years.

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><p>He is restless by the time he calls Lisa and Ben family.<p>

It goes like this:

Kitchen work can only last so long and Dean is not so simple that he is satisfied with days of making eggs, cleaning up, and then inanity to pass the rest of his day.

It is after watching Ben climb up the steps of the school bus that his fingers call for a weapon and his body vibrates with a need for action. He tries to ignore it, but it is instinct and it's the only thing he's known before now.

Lisa has taken a month off from her job for him and she still has one week left. So she is around to notice his unrest. Up until now, she has said nothing of it.

She has instead helped him make the past few weeks about mourning, having sex, and messing around with the Impala.

Today is different. She says to him, "Want do you want, Dean?"

He thinks nothing of it, interprets it as a casual question. Mindlessly, he gives her look of lust, complete with smile, wink, and a "Well, since you asked…"

She ignores that because he has been doing that every day for the past two weeks. Instead, she repeats emphatically, "What do you _want_?"

Dean thinks for a moment of telling her about his growing ill ease and heightened sense of paranoia. He thinks of telling her about a growing need to slice and shoot things and his instinct to drive the Impala far, far away and never stop. He thinks of telling her he'll always be that way.

He says, "I'm used to blood and killing and I've never even slept in a place this nice. I want to get a gun or a knife from the trunk and use it on something right now." In the moments when he says this and the moments after he says this, he regrets it. He's never been so honest and he knows why.

Instead of the end of something good, Lisa smiles and says, "Well, I'm not sure what to tell you about the blood and housing arrangements, but I think I can help you with your weaponry issue."

He gets a job as a construction worker, bringing to work with him hammers and nails and saws, and she laughs every day as he puts his tool belt on in the morning.

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><p>He never yells. For some reason, it is not something he feels the need to do.<p>

Punch things, drive over the speed limit, and cry for Sam in his dreams, sure. But yell? Not really.

He'll always be warped, but he's got a family now and he's glad at least this works out for him.

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><p>Bobby calls him four months after the- Bobby calls him.<p>

He says, "You idgit! I bet you've been playing house while the rest of us are out here working our asses off." And Dean is filled with a tight knot of regret, ready to pull on some boots and drive as soon as this call ends.

Bobby continues, "I'm glad." Dean lets out a breath, deflated.

"Yeah, well. I've got to give you guys something to do. Been taking all the hunts for years; really no fair to the rest of you." He smiles, a vacant little gesture he knows Bobby can't see.

Bobby calls him idgit three more times and tells him not to get himself pulled back in and never once brings up Sam.

It goes like this:

By the end of the call, Dean knows the rest of his life will consist of being separate from everything, dying slowly like the rest of the world.

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><p>One day, Dean takes Ben to a ball game. It's like nothing he's ever experienced.<p>

His father never did these sorts of things and Ben's never had a father.

Dean may not care about the things the rest of the world cares about, spending his time grieving the forever torment of a lost brother and replacing this with nights of family and sex, but he cares about this.

He shows Ben an apple–pie sort of life and it feels a little more true.

It goes like this:

He wishes Sam could be here to watch the game, but he finds he doesn't want the world and Ben to burn for it.


	3. The Beginning is a Silent Introduction

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**Enjoy!... Maybe that's a poor choice of words though?**

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><p>The devil is evil and tempts when he speaks.<p>

Satan brings pain.

Lucifer holds humanity misused.

And

Morningstar comes and there is nothing more.

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><p>When fall comes and goes, the world is saved. But though he brings salvation to them all, Sam is left to forever and he spends it alongside fallen angel.<p>

_Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer._

And Lucifer commands him, a bodied soul ill abled. He fell, you see.

Sam was a mangled pile of eternity when they landed and Lucifer spent much of his time cradling broken flesh and chipped bone. He rocked Sam back and forth, creating a new world for them.

But when the time passes too long and Lucifer grows weary of Sam's mortality, his soul is clawed away by devil hands.

Sam is two, but the body and the soul cling to each other, never really separate. It is a weakness, one Lucifer can prey on and so he says_ Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer. _Because playtime begins now.

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><p>The scene is set.<p>

A field filled with staring eyes of dirty children. Each child stands, focused on The event. They do not break rank and they do not smile. They chant echoes of what the devil says.

Sam leans against a stop sign in the middle of children's crowd, a vertical pain digging along his back.

He breathes sharp and quick. Then he stops, because Satan is here now.

_Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer._ Lucifer says it.

And the children chant, _Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer. _

Clamor roils along airway, sending goose bumps up across Sam's arms.

The children roar the words, over and over and over And.

Lucifer stands there for a time. He looks at Sam, head tilted with a frown. Sam cannot tell how long, but he sees when Satan takes a step forward.

Satan carries an axe. Its handle is of chipping red paint.

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><p>Sam wanders the Cage, which stretches endlessly. It is desert for now.<p>

He steps heavily, feet plastered in thinning shoes and he can feel the grains of sand unevenly spread underfoot. The air is hot and his tongue thick and awkward in his mouth.

There is no feeling. Just desert. Just walking.

He takes another step.

He is alone for the first time.

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><p><em>Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer.<em>

The sound breaks upon his ear, muted.

Lucifer sounds far away.

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><p>Sam opens his eyes, because there is pressure on his arm.<p>

He looks up and sees a mouth, startlingly close. The lips of Satan move, but it's nothing to Sam. He can't hear it.

Sound is the first thing they take from him. It's the only thing he can think of, for a while. At first, it seems more like gift than curse because it distracts from what comes next.

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><p>Hell is meant to host only souls, but Sam has soul and body.<p>

Until one day his body disappears. It was forever walking, through sand, dirt, snow, rain, fire. It just kept going. But not anymore.

He is one, but feels alone when body abandons him. He prefers to call it abandonment, rather than think his body has disintegrated amidst the Cage's harshness.

Sam has just his soul now, but he guesses that is everything.

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><p>Eventually, Sam wishes he could hear his own screams.<p>

It has been a silent existence for too long.

His throat is raw from usage and that is the most painful.

Satan hurts him and he screams, stronger and stronger, but not louder.

Pain, then yelling, then nothing.

So there is no final step before the start, repeated, and it puts him on edge.

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><p>There is a long, thin chain curling on cement flooring. It shines brightly, brighter than its surroundings.<p>

The ceiling is too low for him to get up, so Sam rolls on the floor, a cool solid touch on his sweating body, until he reaches metal chain.

He has been lying in this small room for days and the chain is the first thing to have appeared.

He is hungry and hot and there is no door.

He thinks first of hanging himself, but there is not enough height for that. He thinks of many more things, but decides he is strong enough to wrap the chain along his throat and pull.

One loop, two loops, three loops. Then he tugs and he feels metal press against his throat. He coughs and pulls harder.

He watches the chain the whole time and sees when it begins to dim. He knows he is close. A little tighter and then-

It's gone. The chain and the room disappear. Instead, he sees a black figure amidst greying sight reach for him.

It picks him up and wraps him in strong, solid arms. He can feel the figure vibrate against him, like it is laughing.

He forgot for a moment. Now he remembers. That was the Devil's game and Lucifer is here for him now.

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><p>Most of the time, he does not think about Dean.<p>

He loves his brother- he shows this with every second of his imprisonment- but that is a different world from this one. His mind does not work like that.

His mind thinks only of what is happening in present immediacy and that is the only thing for him.

Anything else would hurt too much.

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><p>One day his hearing comes back.<p>

Everything is so loud. There is a never ending stream of buzzing and screams not his own and the crackling of flames. He even thinks he can hear someone yelling his name somewhere, but he does not think of who it could be.

Everything is so loud his ears bleed. He smiles at that.

He turns bloodied ear towards the beautiful sound of Lucifer speaking to him when he says _Come now, closer to me boy. I said closer,_

Sam goes to him.


	4. Suburbia, Birthdays, and Dreams

**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**Warning: One super quick reference to sex. A couple mild swears. Really, this is rated M, so I don't know why I put warnings for those things.**

**Happy reading!**

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><p><em>"<span>If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.<span>_

_Do you know what the bible preaches? What God is really telling you to do? They tell you to love and to bring peace, and then they turn and tell you to mutilate yourself rather than fall._

_Hah, and that's exactly what you let your brother do. You let him do it, because it's what you could live with. He's in worse than the pit now. He lies with me and I am the root of it all._

_You and I are a lot alike. We do what works for us. You've got a little bit of the devil in you, don't you Dean?"_

And Dean dreams this.

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><p>Dean likes to make burgers.<p>

On his best days, he would say all he needs is a burger and beer.

On his worst days, it reminds him of fire and burning flesh and every mouthful tastes like cooked humanity.

Even on those days though, he cooks burgers and eats them one large bite at a time. He doesn't know what that says about him, but luckily no one has to know about it.

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><p>"I'm just saying, I think it would be nice." Lisa wants to celebrate his birthday.<p>

Dean had asked _'what for'_, but apparently that's self-explanatory.

She'll probably throw him a party anyways, but he still fights it. He doesn't need reminders of who he is. He knows it well enough and she doesn't understand what that means. He's very aware of the kind of man he is; she calls it being a hero. Bet she doesn't know what this hero's done.

"Fine, I'll just have to make it a surprise then." She says the magic words and he's in. He hates the idea of celebrating himself, but he hates the idea of being forced to fake surprise and excitement even more.

Lisa is a conniving sort of woman. It makes him feel better about himself.

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><p>Sam has left him before. He's run away and gone to college and fought with a demon by his side.<p>

Sam has no trouble making the painful choices.

When he ran, he didn't think of where that left Dean. Sam didn't think of how Dean would have to tell Dad what happened. Dean didn't know what had happened and that made it all the worse. Sam didn't think of how angry Dad would be. Things were hard when Sam was missing.

Sam left for college and Dean never said a word. Dad had plenty to say, but Dean let it be. Apparently he was wrong to do that, because the next two years were of punishing disregard. Sam didn't call once.

Ruby, well, she was a black-eyed bitch. But there was so much more to her. She was the one that Sam let in. She was the one who was somehow so much _better_ than Dean. Guess she had plenty of time to recover from her stay in Hell and be all the more presentable for Sam.

It's no surprise that Sam jumped. He's hurt Dean before and makes it seem understandable.

It is understandable though. Dammit Sammy.

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><p>"<em>Happy Birthday to yooooou!" <em>Suburbia likes to celebrate everything; birthdays, jobs, new furniture, you name it.

Suburbia has decent sized backyards with grills and flat screen TVs. They have families and white picket fences. They have everything and they're so accustom to it.

Now they give a bit of that to Dean in the form of poor, shrill singing and cake. Dean lets it be, lets Suburbia get it out of their system. It's fine.

He smiles and laughs a bit. It's genuine enough, Lisa and Ben are here and it's fun.

Some of the guys from work came and it turns out they've been through some major crap too. One of them, Thomas, went to war a few years back. Darwin has the worst name ever, but he's big and burly and hates his father- a drunk with a swinging arm.

The guys don't know his story, but they like to guess at it. Dean is tough enough and pessimistic enough that they know he's been through something. They'll never guess it, but just knowing makes it so Dean fits right in.

The wives cluster near the edge of the- his- yard, sitting in lawn chairs and chatting. He's never done this sort of thing before, but Lisa tells him it's fine to spend this time with other people, so he drinks with the guys.

They all toast to another year of aging, varying levels of genuinely celebrating that fact, and then the party goes on for a few more hours.

When it's over, night has overcome evening and Ben is inside playing video games.

He and Lisa sit outside through the night, talking until one.

"So how was party?" She sits on his lap and whispers in his ear. Her hair rests across her shoulder and a strand blows into his mouth. He doesn't point this out, just blows it away and keeps talking.

"Did you know that Thomas defused a bomb with one hand once?"

"Yeah. He likes to tell everyone that story. It figures that you'd be the one guy to really appreciate what that means." And she laughs it into his ear, spreading goose bumps across the side of his face and neck.

"Well, it is impressive." He says it defensively even though she doesn't mind.

She doesn't mind when he's defensive about it either. She just squeezes his arm and kisses him. He is a sucker for womanly wiles, so it works out well.

At one, they head inside and it's so late that Ben is asleep.

Up the stairs, into their bedroom, and they have sex.

Lisa tops and says happy birthday when he reaches climax. It's one helluva birthday gift.

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><p><em>Sammy rides shotgun and Dean blares 'mullet rock.' Sam turns and smiles at him and he can't figure out why.<em>

_Sam is a serious guy and acts like smiles are a nonrenewable resource. You use this smile and you never get back. But there he is, listening to music he hates, next to a bossy older brother who never leaves him alone, and he smiles._

_Dean says to him, "What the hell are you looking at bitch?"_

_Sam laughs and says, "Happy birthday you jerk."_

_He spent his whole birthday driving to get to a town where young women are being ganked by a monster and it might be the best one yet._

And Dean dreams a memory.


	5. Whoever Spares the Rod

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine, tragic though that may be.**

**A/N: The reviews were lovely, support rocks, and I got the title for this chapter from this quote:**

**_"Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him."_**

**Warnings: Serious Crap in the form of Abuse/torture (whatever the kids are calling it these days) and general creepiness. Oh, and cussing- like, an eff bomb.**

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><p>He is a child.<p>

He walks through this place hand in hand with the devil. He doesn't yet know what that means- all he knows is that next to him is the man he calls daddy.

Daddy is tall, so much taller than him. Together, they explore the world.

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><p>Sam is walking with his and daddy's hands linked, swinging back and forth. Daddy tells Sam that he has to do exactly what he says because this world is unpredictable.<p>

One minute they can be walking along crackling land with steam oozing out of fissures in the ground and the next, there can be long, thin trees everywhere that shadow the sky and make the ground so, so cold.

Right now, the world is calm and Sam can see the sky.

Sam asks, "Daddy, why is the sky so red?"

And daddy grins at him, explains dotingly, "This is where the damned go for pain. That's their blood up there Sammy. Sometimes there's so much it'll flow over. Maybe one day you'll see it rain."

And he accepts this answer; learns that this is just the way things are here.

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><p>He and daddy play games.<p>

One of the games is called '_Spike-Em'_. Daddy will tell Sam to '_wait here_'and he'll go away for a while.

Sam doesn't like being left alone; it's too quiet and he can hear The Man screaming. The Man calls his name, says things like, "You did this Sam! You did this to me!" and "Help! I'm your family! For god sake, help me!" Usually though, The Man just screeches incoherently.

Sam can only escape the noise when daddy is around, and it is right then that Sam decides he doesn't want daddy to ever leave him.

For '_Spike-Em,_' daddy only leaves for a day or two, so it's okay. When he comes back for Sam, he carries '_damnations most miserable bastards_'in a wheelbarrow and if they try to get out, daddy will punch them in the head.

The game only starts when daddy dumps them all in a pile and hands Sam a morning star. The end of it is a ball with spikes and the handle is so smooth in Sam's hand that daddy had to teach him how to grip it properly, so it won't go flying when he swings.

Daddy didn't tell him which swing cracks the most bones or draws the most blood, Sam had to learn that for himself. But he's gotten pretty good at it and when daddy lays them all out so messily in front of him, he's ready.

Swing, strike, redraw. And he does it for such a long time because it makes daddy laugh.

He doesn't mind it when these people scream, not like The Man, because they don't say his name over and over again until Sam feels like there's something he should remember. It's so much simpler with these people. All he has to do is strike and ignore the smell of piss and feces as they slowly break for him.

That's one of the few games daddy plays with him, but daddy says he'll learn more games when he gets older.

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><p>Sam gets older.<p>

Daddy tells him he's a teenager now and says, "I can't have you going through your rebellious phase, it would break daddy's heart," and then he'll push Sam to the ground and kicks him again and again.

Sam tries to be good for daddy, but daddy tells him that he'll never be good enough. He says, "I told you this place was for the damned. You're evil Sam, I just don't want you to forget and repeat your old mistakes," and then he'll squeeze his fingers around Sam's throat for however long he thinks Sam deserves.

Sam eventually learns that this is just a new game. It's a lot like the old ones in that he doesn't like it very much, but plays it anyways because it makes daddy laugh.

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><p>Even though daddy says he's a man now and he's grown up enough to handle all of the games, Sam's pretty sure daddy is going easy on him.<p>

They've been walking for a long time and Sam has seen so much. He's seen a lot of people and daddy says they're souls. He's seen a lot of monsters and daddy calls them his other children, but says they're not as special as Sam. Sam has heard whispers though; that others call them demons and they can go to a different world and sometimes Sam is so envious. He decides he'll visit the other world if he ever gets the chance, but only if daddy can come with him.

Of all of the souls and demons Sam has seen though, he's the only one who's got family. No one else has a daddy to play this world's games with and to teach them things. They're hung up on racks, chained down, and take turns playing- but it's so impersonal. That's what makes Sam think daddy is going easy on him; daddy's games are warmer, fueled by his love.

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><p>One day, daddy figures out Sam doesn't like being left alone. Of course, daddy is a bit of bastard, so he leaves Sam then. Sam would follow, but daddy gave him a direct order and Sam would never disobey.<p>

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><p>For decades, he stands right where daddy left him. He's been perfectly happy to stay there and hope daddy comes back, but right now, he can hear The Man yelling at him and he decides to walk for a while.<p>

It doesn't matter how far he goes, he can still hear The Man. Eventually, Sam decides he will visit The Man.

The plan fills him with dread, but at this point, daddy's been gone far too long and he has nothing left to lose.

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><p>Years go by.<p>

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><p>He finds The Man. There is a storm swarming above him and it is a purple so bright it almost looks blue. It's beautiful. It's terrifying.<p>

The Man sees him and looks so, so angry. Sam can handle angry though, he's been traveling with daddy since forever.

The Man has made such a mark on Sam's life, making room in Sam's mind for a horrible, knotting ball of guilt, anxiety, and aching. Sam had thought The Man would be taller.

"About fucking time! Goddammit Sam. Where the hell have you been?"

The voice is so familiar, and Sam is dazed when he says, "A- Adam?"

"No freakin' duh you giant." And The Man- Adam- looks unimpressed, like he's waiting for Sam to say something else.

Sam feels close to something. He feels like he's growing up, or turning into what he's always, truly, been. The memories of daddy that had once so filled his mind start to share space with memories of a different time.

"I think we knew each other once." It feels groundbreaking.

"Knew- Knew each other? I'm your brother, you jackass."

And it all comes back.

Sam remembers. Born a Winchester, raised hunter, Dean.

And emotions are reclaimed. He experiences, not the dull set of feelings Lucifer has allowed him, but the pungent taste of fear and acrid horror and flaming remorse. Sam would puke, but his life as the devil's child has steeled his stomach.

He reaches for Adam, ready to protect him from whatever it is that has made him scream so loud all these years, but the devil takes him away then.

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><p>Sam is in a small white room with Lucifer. There are trellises of flowers climbing the walls and fragrances that are not of burning human and fear climb up his nostrils.<p>

Lucifer smiles warmly at him and asks him simply, "Was that fun, my son?"


	6. Soap Opera (The Obligatory Comic Relief)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**A/N: If you've read this far, that means you deserve some lighter, mildly stupid, fluff. Enjoy! **

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><p>He discovers soap operas. Worse, he finds he loves them.<p>

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><p>The throes of overpowering finality come when Julio finally, finally admits that he loves his abusive, conniving (deceased) mother and accepts that love and hate can work together. His mother expected a lot from his as a child. She made him cook, clean, file taxes, and pay the bills. To this day, Julio shudders if he hears the word Cinderella.<p>

Small town girl Sally J. Jones finds within herself a goddess of spirit and sexuality, but with that confidence comes a susceptibility to manipulative haters who lead her towards devastation of the heart. She cares deeply about those close to her, but she has dealt with loss and battled alcoholism and she's vulnerable right now. She can't even look at a cat video with bursting into tears.

Rivera is an angry woman who shares a special bond with Sally. They have a history, but it is secretive and almost cursed. Rivera hates the world now, because she has been so utterly betrayed by those closest to her. Some argue that it is the other way around, that she is the betrayer. But however it went down, she is this broken shell of hatred ready to lash out.

Dean is obsessed. He becomes emotionally attached to the cast, they're like family. He mourns their losses, wants to make their nemeses bleed, cries when they fall from goodness. They make him feel like never before because their lives are tragic and exciting.

And so, Dean binge watches late into the night, when the house grows quiet and his other family (his real life family) sleeps.

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><p>Lisa says he has a problem.<p>

Dean says he's finally found an outlet, like Lisa had told him some time ago he should have.

Lisa rolls her eyes, calls him a smartass.

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><p>Sally J. Jones is a rock star when she performs. Her hit song, "I Came in Like a Construction Crane," shows the depths of her internal profoundness. She's climbed up the ranks of musical success and she's just sublime!<p>

But it cannot last, because her dark past is reanimated in the form of an enemy returned from a decades old fake-death.

Poor Sally, always trying her best to right her mistakes. She tries and tries, works tirelessly for all the right reasons. She is so earnest, but also wrong more often than not.

When Rivera comes back from the dead, she wants revenge. She is angry and has been planning this for a long time. There is nothing Sally can do to make things right unless she sacrifices herself.

To be continued…

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><p>When his soaps are not on, Dean goes to work. He drills through walls and hacks wood in half, fired up by worry for his beloved TV family and a hatred for the people who will not give them peace.<p>

Thomas, Donovan, and the rest of them take notice of the change in him. They make lighthearted comments about his new energy, but leave him be. They can tell this is a delicate time for him; that he is struggling with things best not mentioned.

They understand this, so Dean does not tell them his struggles come in the form of soap operas instead of a mysterious past they still know nothing about.

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><p>Julio is brave and gives everything he has for Sally. He offers her his kidney when they find out she has kidney damage, he even confesses that he would jump off of a bridge and shoot himself in the knee if he thought it would help her.<p>

It has always been a spell binding love held between the two, for even the way they first met was remarkable. He ran into a burning building that no firefighter had dared reenter and he rescued her, carrying her out because she was too weak from smoke inhalation to walk!

He loves her more than anything and Sally loves him too, but circumstances pull them apart.

Julio must deal with his internal demons, because otherwise he will never understand the true meaning of mutual love. Sally must find the right path because without a clear separation of right and wrong, Rivera will succeed.

Through failures to truly see each other for what they are and all they can do, Julio and Sally drift apart.

Sally grows closer and closer to a dastardly man who whispers evils in her ear. He is tall and tan and has an accent. He herds Sally into place, setting her up for failure and it looks like Rivera may be victorious.

Julio's inner demons come in the form of nightmares and a ghost mom, forcing him to deal with a dark past that was out his control. He gets so caught up, feels raw and hates himself. He doesn't give Sally the strength she needs when she is off fighting her own battles, because he can barely save himself.

It is all aligning for Rivera's final move.

To be continued…

* * *

><p>"Do you think you love these soap operas because they're so much like your own life?" Lisa says, deep in contemplation, one morning.<p>

Dean has been obsessed for weeks and so she caved, finally sitting to watch an episode with him yesterday.

Now though, Dean is really wishing she hadn't. It's almost as if she has manifested a psychology degree overnight, because she has not yet stopped comparing him to his soaps.

He's flattered, but flabbergasted.

Before Lisa, he had no "Sally" of his own. All of his romances were flings and came from bodily desires. He'd never once felt the way Julio did about his one night stands. Hell, he's never known anyone that's needed a kidney before. Plus, Rivera? He's ganked monsters and demons and angels, but he's never come across a human that deviously evil.

When he tells Lisa this, she stares at him for a long time, unblinkingly, and then laughs hysterically.

He doesn't get why she laughs so hard at that, and decides he's probably better off not knowing. Instead, he goes back to the living room to find out what Rivera's final move will be.

* * *

><p>Rivera is a lean, mean, fighting machine. She has Sally in her clutches, held captive and tied to a chair in her living room. Together, they watch a video feed planted in Julio's home as several paid-for hire assassins- three of them!- break in and attack Julio.<p>

Sally is afraid for Julio, but thank god Julio is a black belt in ti kwon do _and_ wrestling _and _fisticuffs. He kicks their butts and ghost mom is just in time to tell him exactly where Rivera is holding Sally.

At this point, Sally knows everything will be alright and Rivera is shouting her curses to the sky. When Julio comes and saves his beautiful soul mate, he also brings the police.

Rivera has been involved in the illegal activities of hiring hit men, planning out murders, credit card fraud, and jaywalking. The police tag on that last one because they don't like her.

Rivera is led away as she promises revenge. She screams it until her voice fades away with distance.

It leaves Sally and Julio alone. Sally is still tied up in Rivera's living room when Julio kisses her. They say they love each other and will never let each other go.

But off in the shadowed distance is Tomuvian.

Tomuvian, the displaced, exotic little boy adopted for the sake of appearance, realizing that to escape his emotional prison, he must take charge as heir, but at the price of forgoing love until his master plan falls into place.

To be continued…

* * *

><p>Dean <em>loves<em> soap operas.

* * *

><p><strong>There <em>may<em> have been some slight similarities between Julio & Sally and Dean & Sam. I promise I wasn't trying to start any funny business or make any implications, it was just in the name of good fun. :)**

**Also, hugs for anyone who can figure out who the 'dastardy man' and Rivera are. :P**


	7. Another Ride, Let's Get It Started

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is a show and it's a very nice show, but it isn't my show. :(**

**A/N: Gah, I had a hard time naming this chapter. But anyways, enjoy! **

**Review and you too can be one of my most favorite people in the whole wide world.**

**Warnings: Gore? Yeah, there's that.**

* * *

><p>"Don't you ever find this tiring? All you do is scream; all day, all night, all the time."<p>

And as he asks, he drags a finger across a line of weeping flesh. The wound is deep, exposing nerve and bone alike.

"_Broken skin of gushing gash spread across your inner thigh, all for me, this is Satan's bloody prize."_ He croons in Sam's ear, tunelessly.

Satan had taken great pleasure in pinning Sam down, bare and submerged in bloodied mud, with mutilated, pus-ridden hands growing from the ground to hold each of his limbs still.

Satan takes his time, as if caressing a lover.

He'd explained it to Sam like this, "We are so close, you and I. We were made for each other, entity and vessel, god and sacrifice. But when you betray me like you did, it hurts. Sam, we never had to fall and now I'm going to show just how far you've tumbled. You're deep in the rabbit hole now. You and me, baby."

And he laughs with each stroke of his nail, up and down the thigh, sharp and serrated because he is divine here and everything is how he wants.

* * *

><p>Sam is a senseless being.<p>

He's lost all instinct, he's lost all thought. There was pain for so very long, but it's dulled. He is a nerve exposed with each bit of peeled skin and carved muscle. It has always been a gruesome living and it is when this part of his life comes to upset him least that he is taken ahold of by a new and fresher torment.

Satan comes and goes, thriving on tortures, one after another.

When Satan is done with Sam, Lucifer will visit.

Lucifer holds humanity somewhere in his vacant heart. He does not care for it. In fact, he really, truly despises it. And he uses it freely. Wielding human psyche and considerations, Lucifer casts his will upon Sam, for he is always ready to start anew.

He takes from Sam everything, systematically and provisionally. Lucifer reminds him that to feel loss, you must have something worth losing. It is why he has taken and given back and taken again every part of Sam; his hearing, his memories, his brother. He has even allowed Sam family and love in this Cage and the word 'daddy' sometimes still creeps its way back into Sam's head, rattling around everlastingly.

* * *

><p>"Tell me what you want."<p>

Sam is silent but Lucifer rests his chin upon Sam's shoulder. "I mean it. I'm really very curious to know what goes on in that big melon of yours. That is the term you Winchesters use, isn't it? Melon. Mmm. Meee-lown. What a strange choice of vernacular.

Well alright! If you won't tell me, I'll just have to guess."

* * *

><p>It had started as typically, albeit horrendously, as any case they took on- there was a series of killings of most extraordinary circumstances.<p>

Every victim was drained of, not blood, but bone. As far as the coroner was able to establish, it was an incredibly painful process.

It would happen like this: The victim's bones would begin to melt, leaving behind red, blistering skin. The victim would die slowly, immobilized for hours before the liquefaction of bone led to the body shriveling inward. Singed organs would stop working against the heavy pressure of its body, sunken in.

Impossible; a definite case.

The problems come quickly after Sam and Dean begin to investigate.

There is no answer to what is doing this. Not a wendigo. Not a rugaru. Not a witch. Not anything. Even Bobby can't find a single sign as to what it could be. The only thing to do is keep trying.

Dean suggests, "Let's just wing it. Bring our 'A' game and shoot up the thing with iron, salt, fire, and anything we have in the truck. One of those things has to be able to gank that mother."

Sam proposes that Dean is an idiot and further states, "I would like to not die too many more times, thank you very much."

They putter around, ineffectively and with a rising kill toll on their consciences. Days grow into a week and Dean's plan begins to sound like a winner.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you ever stop to think that maybe you're your own worst enemy? Bah, call it cliché all you want; you're only insulting yourself."<em>

_And they sit side by side, speaker rubbing his knuckles across Sam's bicep. _

"_You live a trite life. Yes, yes, yes, you do know all about the things that go bump in the night. But really, how are you any different from everyone else who's been screwed by family, childhood, and tragedy? You hunt- like daddy, like mother, like son. You've fallen into the habit, the family addiction." _

_And he leans into Sam's chest, grabbing Sam's hands and wrapping them around himself, like a coat._

"_You're just going to die, painfully and alone. Or better yet! You'll have to watch Dean die. _

_If you're lucky, you'll be able to hold his head on your lap and whisper blatant lies about being alright, about getting Dean to a hospital. And you'll watch the light go out in eyes, watch the moment he no longer sees you and you'll know the reaper has him then. You'll get to hold a warm, bleeding corpse and love it with all your heart, because it was the only family you had left."_

_He pauses to kiss the inner wrist of one of Sam's hands and bites down, hard and unforgiving. The wrist doesn't bleed._

"_And then you'll wish you were dead, but you can't die; because Dean wouldn't want that for you. So you'll live a miserably long life, because you're a luckless sort of bastard like that. And you'll finally, mercifully die in your sleep, dull and quietly."_

* * *

><p>The sensation of touch lingers as he awakens. When his eyes scan the motel room for Dean, he sees no one. Dean is gone.<p>

His mind arranges a sequence of horrible thoughts.

Dean is dead. Dean is missing and Sam will spend forever looking for him. Dean is fighting the monster, alone. Dean. Dean. Where is he?

* * *

><p>It grows darker and he still can't find Dean.<p>

He has searched the town, thoroughly and without a single clue.

_Check the woods._

Sam can't explain, but he's suddenly very sure of where Dean is. He drives the car to the edge of town, where buildings give way to nature. And he drives further, until he is on a single road surrounded by trees. Sam has no plan and he doesn't care. He just runs and runs and runs. He passes tree after tree, crying for Dean and following an irrational instinct, molded by whispers he dares not question.

A timeless stream of search and panic leads to his brother. He lies still amongst a patch of grass, and Sam is there with him now. He sees Dean and is able to calm himself enough to understand what will come next. He's okay with it.

"Dean! Come on Dean. You've got to wake up. I'm not going to be able to do this all on my own." He hovers over Dean, hands running across his brother's body to check for injuries. He was alright.

What happens next happens quickly.

Dean awakens to a sense of wrongness and sees Sam's face, wary and alert, above him. He can tell there is trouble and he sees the trouble not too long after the realization.

There in front of them is a monster. It is gruesome, with a face that is a withered pile of wrinkles and bulbous growths. Its body is like a man, but covered in glamorous scarring, deep and intentional. The thing moves towards them and the brothers are at its mercy.

Weaponless, prone on the ground, and much slower than this thing, there is no chance. Fangs longer than fingers spread across a long, jawless mouth. Curled, dirt crusted nails are dulled by dried blood and reach towards them.

Sam holds Dean close in this moment.

* * *

><p>"<em>It can't happen this way." And he is snickering, the sound ringing through the world.<em>

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean are torn apart.<p>

He loses his arm first and his brother's screams curl around him. Limbless in fast progression and with their bones oozing out of them, pain fills them.

Their bodies fall apart into a gory heap, pieces of their bodies intertwined. The brothers' deadened eyes are locked on one another, before rolling from liquidized skulls.

There is so much blood and the monster drinks it, slurping every drop with feral fervor.

Sam and Dean. Dead.

* * *

><p>And Lucifer pulls him back, awareness and all, into reality. The Cage is all there is and he has to exist without Dean.<p>

"You know it doesn't work like that. He's gone. You gave him up for something greater. You gave him up for me. And isn't that the sweetest thing? I might just have to let you live forever now.

_Stay awhile by my side, before you go for another ride."_


	8. The Most Important Thing

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Enjoy. **

**Warnings: Umm... There's some violence?**

* * *

><p>He catches the scent of his old life.<p>

It is sudden and unexpected and then he is gone.

* * *

><p>Drive.<p>

The Impala roars with a nostalgic livelihood, as if in greeting to her absentee caregiver. She shines awesomely, racing along road and propelling forth like Dean's excitement.

Off in a distance and gap between his domesticity and monsters is a hunt. People are dying, and isn't that the most important thing?

Dean had noticed what no one else had, a subtle reminder of death and gore as listed in the standard black print amongst a series of news stories.

A missing man, a crazy girl, and sightings of an imaginary being, spanning decades. The thing is, it's real and it wants blood.

What Dean had noticed was the way in which this man went missing. The report says it happened, but no one has any idea how (or why). There is no evidence of it happening at all except that the man is no longer there, and that is where the mystery begins.

Consecutively following this was the reemergence of a girl- a girl of entirely different background and circumstance, relating only on the singular level of having disappeared once. She was batshit crazy, to put it in laymen's terms. She spoke of things that don't exist and they put her in a white room. They say she made up the whole thing, but she has scars.

The scars are on her wrists, so the reports called her suicidal. The girl says differently though. Her story is one of terror and captivity, of being drained of blood and escaping bonds when the beast was distracted. She speaks as if she has come across a true and living monster.

And so Dean drives.

* * *

><p><em>Dean, where are you? I had to leave work early to pick up Ben because he said you never came. Just, Dean, please call me back.<em>

* * *

><p>The coroner remembers there being a grisly attack dating back seven years ago. It's the only one the coroner can recall as being strange, but Dean isn't surprised.<p>

As far as he can tell, this monster likes to finish its meal, down to the last shards of bone.

He speaks to long since grieving loved ones of the missing (dead) and the investigation continues down a long line of people of interest. Finally, lastly, he visits the girl, the survivor.

* * *

><p>"<em>Dammit. Call me Dean. It doesn't matter what you did or what's going on, I just need you to call."<em>

_There is a pause coupled with a heavy sigh._

"_I'm calling Bobby tomorrow if I don't hear from you before then."_

* * *

><p>The hunt is on and he thrums with anticipation. He has a mission, a single goal, and it's simple. It's what he knows, what's always been there. But even with his life coming together whole, he does the work mechanically. He cannot escape the senses of longing, family, or bitter loss. He's all alone, without Sam by his side or a girl and kid to take care of.<p>

Hunting, he feels like he can breathe for the first time in a while, but the air is soured.

* * *

><p>"Hi Ms. Grauss, I'm Agent Dixon Piper."<p>

Dean stands before the only survivor of the ongoing monster attacks, stiff and uncomfortable.

He had gotten approval from the head of the psyche ward to visit her during visiting hours. So here he is, in the rec room for the crazy with his witness.

She is noticeably broken down, scars running across uncovered wrists and dark bags under her eyes. It's clear she's not bouncing back from this and it reminds Dean of a sharper shade of life, one of danger and panic and guaranteed ends.

"Sidney," she speaks quietly, head angled down, hair falling in her face as a shield from lighting if not danger.

"Alright, Sidney. I'm sure you can figure out why I'm here, but I'll tell you this much. I want to know what happened to you. Really know. You can tell me anything, no matter how crazy it sounds."

She stares at the table between them, hands picking at her scars, and barely blinks, like she's already forgotten the basics of living.

"Okay." It's said almost inaudibly, but that's all Dean needs, so he listens.

"It was always so hot there. I was terrified, but there was plenty of time for me to be uncomfortable too. At first, I thought I would die of dehydration.

I was tied up for days and that was plenty of time for me to see things I can never forget.

The thing, it- it almost looked human. But it was hideous. It had arms and legs and was close enough to being human I could tell it was naked. But it wasn't like us. Its face was... loose? Its skin was wobbly and drooping, like a bulldog. Its eyes were shadowed by these swelling lumps that spread across its forehead. I- I couldn't look at his face after the first time.

Its body was like any man's, but old and sunken in. It hunched as it walked, feet scraping the ground with each step. Oh god, I always knew it was coming because I would hear that awful scraping before I ever saw it get close.

It had these deep lines that spread across its body. At first I couldn't tell if they were scars or not. But the marks looked like the ones on my arms, so I know now. I don't understand why anything, or anyone, would do that to themselves.

At first I wasn't sure what it wanted from me.

He was there, the missing man everyone is talking about. His name was Tommy. I saw him when I first woke up in that hellhole. Tommy was trying to comfort me, tell me it would be alright. Funny, it was his talking that made me lose any hope of living. He was terrified, looked like he was mentally shutting down.

And that's when I figured out that what the thing wanted from me was..."

She takes a deep breath in, before continuing.

"The… The monster killed him. We had both been there a few days and I guess it was… hungry, because it went for Tommy.

I could tell just being near the thing hurt Tommy. Tommy's skin started sizzling and this pinkish- white liquid came out of him. Out of his eyes, ears, nose… The monster tore off Tommy's arm and the pink, uh, goop dripped from there too.

I- I ran then. I knew there was nothing I could do to save him. But the thing is, I didn't care. Even if I could have saved him, I would have run.

Tommy's dead and I'm crazy. Everything I saw was real, but I'm still crazy."

Dean and Sidney lock eyes.

It's like looking at a corpse, so all he can say is, "I won't take up anymore of your time. Thanks for answering my questions."

As he walks away, he can hear her laughing. It's loud, raucous laughter; it's crazed laughter. And when he opens the door to leave, she screams, "You're welcome."

* * *

><p>Dean thought this hunt was it. He wasn't even sure if he could go back to Lisa's place after this. But the thing is, he needs Lisa and Ben. So he calls Bobby, tells him he found a case and that Bobby should get a hunter on it.<p>

He checks out of his motel room and leaves right after. On the road, he calls Lisa, but gets her answering machine. He tells her he's on his way home and he's glad he doesn't have to explain just yet.

* * *

><p>It takes him six hours and twenty minutes to get home.<p>

* * *

><p>He can tell as soon as he sees Lisa- he has broken something here.<p>

He had thought he had nothing left to break, screwed up as he is. He was wrong.

Lisa stands in the doorway, face solemn. Dean can see the little ticks in her impassivity. Concern. Fear. Anger. Hurt.

The feelings are strong even though she is simply standing there with her arms spread across her torso and mussed hair dangling in tangles and waves.

He lost something in the course of these days, but it was not what he thought. The hunt is everything, but he can no long abide. He has to sacrifice this need, this craving, for the greater- the most important. His family.

He realizes all of this now, but it is too late to smooth the lines of Lisa's face.


	9. The Anguish of Others

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**A/N: Thanks for the support guys.**

**Warning: DISTURBING, like in a way deserving of all caps. Seriously, torture and yucky stuff.**

* * *

><p>He likes to touch Sam. Sam can go nowhere, experience nothing, without the touch of any one character of Lucifer.<p>

It is a horrible thing, this clinging, needy embrace they share. Lucifer tries to be his everything, tries to consume Sam into his attentions.

Do you know how it feels to be this wanted by Lucifer- _the devil, and Satan_- himself?

It is heavy and devastating.

The devil in his ear wants him to fight it. He wants Sam to see just what can happen. And it does happen, like this-

"I feel like you don't appreciate me enough Sammy.

I know you like to think this is a ghastly place, a place far crueler than anything they could ever deserve. But Sammy, my boy, we're just the bottom line. We host some of the sickest, most depraved people to have ever existed.

I was cast down from Heaven. I have a goodness in my heart that I give to you alone. These wretches here, they have nothing of the sort."

* * *

><p>Sam is hurled through the Cage, lands on the furthest, loudest outskirts of his imprisonment. He reaches all corners of his hell, meets the horrible and terrible and depraved, over and over again. There are so many of them.<p>

* * *

><p>Here is just one:<p>

The smell is what hits him first. It leaks through space, engulfing and ranging towards Sam. It is dense; thick enough to weigh him down.

Gun powder, rotting wood, and freshly turned dirt.

There is a man that stands upright and with dark, deep red blood pooling off of him in rivets. Like a stream of gore, endlessly and wetly, trailing behind him and coating him.

And when the man, closer to monster than human, smiles, all of his teeth straight and white; _pristine_.

"You're new. Wherever did you come from sweetheart?"

Sam takes a step back, hesitant and apprehensive. This man is a beast that Lucifer sent him to and Sam knows clearly this is a lesson of the devil. Somehow, someway, this will be worse than what he's experienced before.

"Don't be shy, I can't have you standing there all on your lonesome. _Sugar_."

The man is suddenly there and wild and grabbing at Sam. His eyes are crazed and each swiping grasp is lethal, made of nails sharp as claw and desperation for pain. But yet, he cannot touch Sam. He moves only so far before he stops and then from there, his whole body bends towards Sam. Closer. Closer. But Sam remains untouchable. _Safe._

"Well damn. Looks like you won't get to play." And he tilts his head to the side, thoughtfully.

"That's okay though. I've got just the thing for you handsome!"

Sam watches as the man skips in retreat back to where he had originally stood. Sam now notices that there is a fresh mound of dirt there. He can hear rustling beneath the ground.

The man leans towards it, as if to grab something. Before he continues though, he shoots a backwards look at Sam and says sternly, "Now just watch this. I don't want to hear a peep out of you though, darling."

And Sam's mouth shuts of its own accord, like magic. Or curse.

The man tears at the patch, dragging up dirt and searching. As he digs, he speaks to the ditch, softly. When he is done digging, his arms reach into the newly-made writhing, panting hole. He pulls out a woman. She is gored through her lower stomach and her mouth is open and gasping, but silent, like Sam.

She looks less human than the man. Her body is covered in damp clumps of dirt. It drowns out her features, emphasizing her yellowed eyes, crooked teeth, and aired out organs.

The lower stomach consists of intestines, appendix, and colon. Together, they form the digestive track and are prone to sickness. This woman may be dead, but her body acts as if it were alive.

Her open abdomen is sickly with disease, making the organs swell and blacken. The dirt, organs, and feces are combined into one indecipherable tangle, smeared with red. Her innards are slick and dirtied; a mix of gushing blood and earthy crumbs.

And this broken down woman is grabbed and pulled up to level ground. She places her hands on her stomach to keep all of her organs in.

This makes the man laugh and he lunges at her face, biting and kissing. He pulls away, leaving behind sharp scratches on her face. And she is soundless, but shuddering in pain.

This is not enough for him.

"Let's play a game, sweet and wholesome cherry girl. I love how you tremble for me and I love your dripping guts, but you know what else I could come to love? A hole in your skull. I bet you'd be oozing brain for days. If I shoot in just the right place, maybe even your eyes and ear and nose and mouth will leak out your grey matter! Let's give it a go. I've got my shotgun right here, darlin' Carmin."

And he does just that. He shoots her dead in the face and her skull cracks. Her nose is blown in and her eyes pop, almost dripping out of her skull. Teeth and blood fall from her mouth and her whole head is angled backwards, off kilter of her neck.

Then the man puts his arm around her shoulder, a juxtaposition of action, sweet and mocking. He angles them both to face Sam. He grins and she gasps like a dying fish.

"Hey cutie, do you know the sweet deal your master got me? He says I did so well up above, turned so many people against faith, that I deserved a treat down here. He says I could have anyone of my choosing, forever.

You know why I picked Miss Gutsy here? She made a deal with Hell. She wanted her stillborn fetus revived and well.

People look like people down here. Even though they're bodiless, just whittled down to the soul, they shape their souls to how they identified in life.

Sugar pie right here? In her mind, she's forever pregnant. That's why I had to have her. Two for the price of one, what a deal!

And her baby is a figment of her soul, but it cries so sweet. Just like a real baby. I never get tired of watching her protect that thing. She holds her stomach closed, just to give that fetus a shot at life. It's pathetic. I love that about her."

The man stares at Sam, eye catching eye and unblinking. As he speaks, as he watches Sam, he strokes the woman's arm with his thumb. When he confesses his love, his licks a long line from the woman's forehead down to her shoulder.

It is right then that Sam throws up.

* * *

><p>"<em>Sam. Sammy. Come here."<em> And he is plucked from hellish nightmare, dragged along by desperation and relief.

When he is back with the devil, he is greeted with open arms. He rushes into the devil's hold, clutching and sobbing.

The devil is quiet, all but for the repeated words, "There, there. You're okay now."

And for a moment, this is all Sam needs.


	10. This Is How He Lives

**Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to a different person.**

**A/N: Read and be pleased! (C'mon guys, it rhymes... kind of...)**

* * *

><p>The lake is settled, ripples marking where fish have turned and twirled. Fins skim between top of water and bottom of air, coming together in flirtation with "catch of the day."<p>

The scars of production and human excess mark Earth, but here Earth's skin is clear. The trees and water and animals breathe free, as does Dean.

He allows himself to relax for this one day, saddling wooden seat within the rafting boat. Next to him is Bobby. Together, they make a quiet pair.

There are no cries of 'balls' or 'son of a bitch,' no tension following the duty of men at arms.

Today, they fish.

* * *

><p>There is a disconnect between lives.<p>

One man will hold tightly onto solitary rumination, while another will spread his message across family.

Neither Bobby nor Dean thought they would be where they are.

Bobby's life leads death along as an almost predictable guarantee. He has lost his wife, his friends, his almost son. He holds close knowledge of monsters and studies ancient languages, connecting himself to an underbelly sort of machine. He's so far from society, but he is the interconnecting piece between hunters.

Dean welcomes loss like he welcomes demons- with extraordinary opposition, forgetting who he is and why these things follow him. He loses hope and maybe never even had it, but somehow he's repaired his losses with a woman and her son. He takes the role he heard was only promised to other people, because it is what he does. He forgets he can have love, but his brother's instruction carries him to it.

They live through the Apocalypse- they are the survivors, the veterans, _the lucky ones_- and now their lives become habits of growing familiarity.

* * *

><p>There is something to be said for apple pie lives.<p>

Lisa and Dean are at a new stage of their relationship. It is the one where they have seen what disappoints them in the other's behavior and stay anyway.

Dean is, by blood, hunter bred of distant emotion. At first, he was raw from terror and war and devastation. He cried out in the nights and let his weakness shine. But he's become the man he always is right before Lisa's eyes and she accepts that, like she did his nightmares. She may not understand him like his brother could, but she will not leave him.

Dean sees within Lisa the sort of ordinary he can stain with his experiences. She truly means it when she says he can tell her anything. But she does not understand that everything entails horrors so dark, they can turn a soul demonic. And so Dean watches himself, guards her through distance and through avoidance of his past, of his memories. She is fragile from her life of good chance.

They know each other's limits and the moments that exemplify them are accepted, because they are not just romancing one another, but threading each other through the spaces reserved for family.

When Dean took off, searching for monsters and relief, they became this.

Ben saw Dean as a piece of his life, and he feels there is no home without a mother and a Dean. So Dean keeps himself in check. He lives with the most important thing _[now]_ and he respects it as his first _[family]_.

He's never had a family. Sam isn't- wasn't- that, because even as he was brother and partner and friend, he was a part of Dean. There were no rules with Sam because even when trust and boundaries of goodness were broken, they were still Sam and Dean.

He's learning the margins of family now, and he settles into this life.

* * *

><p>When Bobby calls, he calls to ask about fishing. Just like baseball in the park, he will give this, too, to Dean.<p>

He says, "How are you boy?"

And from there, the conversation is short and stunted, like small talk between any two hunters should be.

"Fine. What do you want Bobby?"

"How're Lisa and Ben?"

"They're good."

"Good."

"Yup."

"I was thinking maybe, you and me, could go out on a boat and catch some fish."

"I guess. Hell, I've already taken up golf. Might as well give this a try too."

"Alright, come down this weekend- There's bound to be a lake somewhere in these parts."

"I don't have any fishing gear."

"Well buy a line you idgit."

And somehow their short, stunted conversation turns to real small talk and ordinary things. It is so domestic, Dean would have laugh at himself if he had realized.

* * *

><p>Two days later, the weekend climbs to fruition and Dean speeds along the road for a different kind of road trip.<p>

He follows the tradition of homebound men when he makes time for manly activities with not often seen guy pals.

He pulls out the Impala for this occasion and fills her with lines and poles and bait. He'll be damned if he lets Bobby see him in anything other than his baby.

Fishing is calming and Dean's never spent time with Bobby in any way that could be described as peaceful.

It's nice, but leaves him itching.

There's no adrenaline or bonds surpassing that of anything he's ever had because they are desperate and close to death and know the darkness will pass over everything they know soon enough.

There are no monsters or hunting.

There's just… this.

This is normal and safe and what he promised his brother. This is love and commitment. This is how he spends his life after the End of the world is stopped.

And if Dean feels a twinge of _[longing… regret… need]_… something, well then that's his business.

This is just fine.

He repeats to himself. _This is fine_. _This is my life._

_This is good._

* * *

><p>And he comes home a day later, with a fish in one hand and the other arm open for Lisa and Ben.<p>

They smile at him, Ben looking skeptically at his unusually small catch, Lisa looking pleased.

She says to him, "How was your trip?"

And he follows routine, as he tells them all about the fish in the lake in Sioux Falls.


	11. Only Love Can

**Disclaimer: It is not mine, this sorcery- Supernatural. **

**This chapter is named after this quote:**

_"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." Martin Luther King Jr._

**I'm glad I could find a good quote for this chapter, and even better, it's by the above listed awesome guy!**

**Warnings: There is violence.**

* * *

><p>There lies war in so many places.<p>

It fills the edges of human with despair- children are turned murderer and mothers are turned dead and fathers are turned rapists.

Fire blows across the rustling sand of disintegrated home. The whistles of breeze carry blood through rivers; the twinges of weather decompose limbs (_faster, slower, always gone_).

The world wars its way across century and era.

Fight for your cravings, fight for greed, fight for love. Instinct shapes human, as it shapes beast.

Our hands are bred of tendons and bones and they shatter under hate. Every layer of membrane peels away to darting, racing heart beats under this sun and sky and war.

* * *

><p>Funeral: dress in the red of our spilled makings; bodies bloodied and drained.<p>

Death: push the curve of your mouth down, frowning because you must.

Hell: don't speak of it; they merely wait for you to arrive.

* * *

><p>And if he's lucky enough, Lucifer will be near, watching over him.<p>

This world is tired and burning and angry. He is inflamed with hatred of spirit, the visceral firestorms and hooks and afflictions, the horrors.

He could lose himself, given time.

It is here, in this truly undead place, that he comes to learn about human nature. He sees such terrible things, but there is no solace in knowing that this place is Hell.

These nightmares are not whittled down to location and circumstance, but to humanity. Here is where the worst in life come for profound mutilation of soul- it makes them proud, as they scream out their entrails and corrupt themselves.

Sam knows this now, and can only hope his time is not soon. And that is why he calls for Lucifer.

* * *

><p>"Don't speak." Satan peers at him from above, while Sam lies tethered against a table made of Hell's occupants. They are all still; well trained by their own master.<p>

"Shhh. It's okay Sammy. You called for me." Soothing timbre rumbles past him, caching against skin as a muted sound.

That is how Sam feels. He is floating, thickly and slow, like honey and pulped flesh. There is disconnect, because to think would be to fear.

His attention reaches towards his only companion, the blight of Heaven and the Father of Sin. He pleads for safe passage and _no more, no more, no more_.

He wants this like he's wanted nothing else. He wants to not see those who are rotting, who are disfigured, who are frayed. He wants to hear ringing in his ears from startling, sudden silence (_peace_). He wants to remember the Sam he used to be.

So he brought his soul, bared and shining, towards the only other person in the world, and Lucifer said, "Okay_._"

To be freed of this, he must be shackled. He cannot walk these planes nor wander in mind. He must be attentive; he must be Lucifer's- wholly, forever.

And that is why Satan stands above him, peeling back neck and ligament, all the while stroking Sam's hair and murmuring that it's what Sam wants.

Satan puts his hands inside of Sam. It is searing ice. The hands slide within his throat, slick with gushing mucus and blood, and dig at pulsing muscle.

Sam is writhing, his chest heaving up and his gasps fly from his lung as puffs of air thrown into open space.

And Satan says, "Shh, we're almost done. Be quiet now, Sam."

There are no words.

* * *

><p>And the devil wants to shape Sam, to match them in harmony of soulmates.<p>

And so Sam is changed.

* * *

><p>"Come, Sam." Lucifer instructs and Sam obeys.<p>

He says gently, he says gloriously, "We always knew it would come to this, didn't we; you and I. I always thought you would be the one to carry me though. You were, once upon a time and when the surface was ours, my vessel. But now we've crashed amidst my realm and I find it's not so bad to burn here when it's with you."

And Sam moves slower now. He looks with glazed eyes, stooped so fragilely.

And Lucifer turns to him, gathers Sam in his arms. He brings them to the ground, his shoulders and head curling in on Sam's form, with whispers of intimate love.

"You were mine from the moment you were born. I felt you. From all the way down here, I felt you! I always wondered how you'd be. Were you a boy or a girl? Short or tall? Devastating in disposition or boiling within? I thought about you all the time."

And Lucifer pulls his cheek along Sam's, leaning their heads within the same space. As if, this close, they could see from each other's eyes.

"And then I saw you. You were beautiful. Anything I had never imagined, that was you. And your passion, your audacity- it was a sight to behold.

And now you're mine. You're more perfect than ever."

They lay together; like lovers, like intertwined pieces, "I've got you now."

* * *

><p>Sam follows Him. Sam watches Him, sees his face light up and his shoulders are straight and steady.<p>

Sam feels a spark when he's near.

And that is the extent of his thoughts, his existential awareness.

* * *

><p><em>They love each other- in every insult, every punch, every piece of anger shared, they are connected.<em>

_They have known each other forever, been anything and everything for each other._

_He doesn't fear this person beside him, because they simply are. _

_They can lose sight of one another- lose battles, lose friendships- but this thing they share is a raging destiny that goes deeper than even Heaven foretold._

_Together is the only way that makes sense. _

_This what lies at his deepest core. _

_This is his promise._

Isolated in senses and psyche and lost, a doll pulled along, he has time to dream. They are open-eyed, absent of reality dreams.

It is the honest to god truth that isn't. This is what the devil doesn't know he has.

He dreams of _them_ and he's thinks they might be brothers.


	12. Unending Constant Truths

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**A/N: Ugh, this was a pain in the butt. It's not as long as I wanted and I had trouble getting my point across. :(**

**Don't let what I just wrote turn you off though- Enjoy! DX**

* * *

><p>He is defined by infernos.<p>

He is base instinct and passion and anger and _heat._

The words he uses are curt, a foulmouthed language dressed in referential humor and insults. The actions he performs are calculating, tailored to a childhood formed by monsters and obscurity. The life he leads is one made by mistakes, horrors, and guilt.

He is passion and shortsightedness. He is ferocity and pigheadedness.

Dean is wretched, but he knows it so well.

* * *

><p>His dream is the start of nightmares:<p>

_It is so hot here. There are screams and this not-man stands above him._

_It's pathetic, but he trembles when shadow overcasts his frame and he knows what comes next._

* * *

><p>Mornings are a rush. Like three cogs in a machine, he, Lisa, and Ben circle around each other. They ready themselves for a day of work and then they are gone; off to their separate places. It's a domestic blur.<p>

Dean will always get home first and Ben comes not too much later:

_["How was school Ben?" Dean is home and lazy, leaning against the kitchen counter rather than take a readied stance like his training tells him to._

_"Fine. We did school things. Read, almost learned, ignored the teacher." And Ben throws his bag onto the counter, right next to Dean. Hurriedly, distracted and already racing past to get to his room, "Bye!"_

_Dean stays where he is. There's not much for him to do; the day is open and Lisa is still at work.]_

His time is filled by schedules and he's lost for the hours in between, so he drifts with delays, wasting time in nothings.

Sometimes he will call Lisa. He'll say, "Hey Lis, how you doing?" And her response varies:

_[She can be warm and help pass the time, giving Dean a focus. "Everything's fine, but I'm so ready for work to be over! I hope you made something delicious for me." And she might joke, conspiratorially, "There might be something in it for you."_

_Other times, she can sound harried and hang up quickly. "I'm swamped. I can't stop and chat right now Dean. I'll see you at home."]_

This is the thing that unsettles him though. Ben and Lisa love him. They need him and he's an integral part of this machine. But it's not an all-encompassing way of living. Their routines, lives, are separate- things are not shared like they were in the way Dean used to have.

He has alone time and he's filled with choices, options. Uncertainty.

* * *

><p>Torment fills the nights:<p>

_He feels the sharpness of lethal instrument, dragging and digging across him. It threads its way into his abdomen until he is begging and crying the name of a long since departed brother._

_He is truly alone._

* * *

><p>Dean shaves every morning. He grabs a blade and runs it across his face. It's the simplest thing, but he hates it.<p>

It's a never ending loop. He's compelled- by nature, by rule- to do this.

* * *

><p>His worst moments, his swallowing guilt, follow sleep:<p>

"_You know it will always come down to this. One day you'll give in and I'll watch you turn into this vile creature. You'll say yes to me. You'll be my protégé, my favorite."_

_No. No, no, no, no. _

_Wait for it. Wait…_

_Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. _

_And he says it because he is broken._

* * *

><p>Lisa. She smiles and it's the brightest damn thing in the room.<p>

It doesn't take much, because she appreciates the small things- Ben walking into the room, Dean sneezing (she thinks it's _cute_), kittens.

Dean envies her. He wants to stand next to her, grab her arm with his fist covering it in entirety, and hold on. He feels like somehow by proxy, he can take what she has. But this is wrong, flawed to the core and Dean knows this, even as he follows her and listens to her sweet, eager stories.

He thinks to himself, _this can't work. It makes no sense_. Because he is dirty and leeching, using her to tie himself to promises and safety. Because it is a connection built of wishes and desire.

He and Lisa are made of hope; she carries him with naivety.

He wonders if, honestly and truly, he loves her. He feels as though he does- he would die for her, he wants her to be happy, he knows her ticks and mannerisms and bad habits. But in his most private thoughts, he wonders if it is just idealization.

* * *

><p>His dreams are dark, stained:<p>

_Choices; you can take or you can give. _

_The pain is always there- the only difference is how it happens. It has to happen, so why not change where he stands?_

_He hates that he loves this, but he feels it is owed to him- vengeance for his last shred of decency._

* * *

><p>It's hard to manage.<p>

He thinks he's fine- he's found a way of being, one with family and friends and home. He smiles and is at peace for the first time in his life- but he's not.

Startling revelations of the real, tragic certainty will smatter him; spontaneously, irregularly, overwhelmingly.

Sam is in Hell. Sam is in _the Cage_.

And this will be forever.

* * *

><p>He is depraved, from the moment he did what shame will not him let forget to present, and it makes a new sort of nightmare:<p>

_There are flames following him and he holds a baby is in his arms. He's protecting this fragile, innocent thing, but he doesn't know why. _

_This thing is splayed right in front of him and he knows who he is- he knows he's already made his choices. What else can he possibly do?_

* * *

><p>Dean lives amidst night terrors and waking moments and the crawling, itching truths hit him like punches.<p> 


	13. An Issue of Consent

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**Warning: This chapter touches on the line HaLucifer said: "You're my bunk mate buddy. You're my little bitch in every sense of the term." **

**T****o clarify, there will be sexual assault/ nonconsensual sex. It's not graphic (the actual, physical maneuvering is not described), but it's there.**

**It's included in the italic sections if you want to skip it, FYI.**

* * *

><p><em>No, no, no, no, no.<em>

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

And she invites him into their lives, desperate and alone, wanting for the innocent love she thinks she can have. So she pulls forward, hands fisting the shirt of a dead father and makes the deal. She sees yellow eyes linger before demonic dealer billows away in filthy smoke.

She is left with a fiancé and a dead body, and in return, she has given something that does not belong to her.

* * *

><p><em>The years have been unkind and they wear on Sam.<em>

_So now he is warped; he knows all of the things he could be forced to feel, before the final piece of flesh fell away and he was just dying bone, waiting to be reanimated. Again._

_He is desperate for it to stop, so Lucifer proposes a new game- t___hat is why he follows, head lolling as if neck has simply ceased to work, and he is a doll- the slave, the follower, the subservient, the fool.__

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

This night is wrong, for it is evil that manifests tonight. The quest for revival of the father of all demons starts here.

The baby lies under the shadow of long ago promises and he loses something then, as blood falls into his mouth. It is in this singular instance that his whole world is made for him.

The room burns hotter with mother, purity, and hope.

* * *

><p><em>Lucifer lies.<em>

_He whispers sweetly into Sam's ear, fills an emptied mind with promises and ideas- says Sam wants this._

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

Drive for the hunt. Drive for revenge. Drive for secrets (and Winchesters are chased by Sam's fate, by the demons that cling, unknown, to him, always).

He rides alongside brother and father, reluctant and wrong.

He complains about losing friends and connections and normality, all while ignoring the whispers that come to mind uninvited, because that is a discovery for later times.

* * *

><p><em>And they are somewhere else now- far away and under the stars. The scene is set with a strikingly familiar chord of camping and cabin. <em>

"_Homely, isn't it?" Lucifer says, like they have been deep in conversation._

_And Sam almost nods, because he wants this, as he turns his head._

_There are trees and it is almost like home- above- but he can still smell sulfur and hear the screams and the sky is tinted red, even in the dark. _

_Awareness stirs amidst the disparity of memory and instinct._

_This place is wrong._

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

She burns for him- sacrifice and offering. She is a catalyst of bastardry plans, any chance of good future crumbling alongside her- remains.

And he can do nothing but scream, watch, be pulled away as he loses the last barrier.

His normalcy (_safety_) smolders away with her and he is fueled by this.

* * *

><p><em>Lucifer wants to show him around. He sweeps them along grass and pathway into the cabin he calls homely.<em>

_Sam follows because there is nowhere else to go, but he does not want to._

"_Isn't this place just so darling? The detailing is made of wooden paneling and we have a view!"_

_The view is a pile of living, breathing souls, spiked atop one another, and Sam wonders if that is the view meant for him to see._

_He is drifting from the compliance he gave Lucifer and he suspects illusions are fading quickly from mind, because he is seeing things differently than he remember- everything sharper, darker, bloodier._

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

The demons crawl from Hell, slithering along depth and body, leaving the smell of rotten soul. They are wrong in every sense and they chase him down- because he is hunter, because he is dangerous, because he is like them.

And then…

He's missing pieces of himself to grief and trauma, but she takes ahold of him and turns him vile. She stretches, squirming in his mind and he is a repeated track of _this isn't me! Not me! Dean, help!_

Hidden away though, she uses Sam's voice and face and body for sin.

He is wrong in spirit, their father says so, and it looks as if Sam has snapped now.

And then this thing inside of him pleads to Dean, tells Dean to kill them. Because (s)he is evil, because (s)he has killed, because (s)he will again, as expected by Sam's nature, by his destiny.

And he wants to live, oh he does, but he wants to know Dean can do what is necessary.

He won't -can't- of course and so Sam's future remains.

* * *

><p><em>And Lucifer leads them through the home- each room empty but described as if it were of royal endowment- until he comes to a final room.<em>

_The door to it is opened and the room is not empty. It is plain but for a bed. Luxurious, doubtlessly, with satin sheets and downy bedding- Hell's finest._

_And Sam is scared, he's always scared, but he can tell this time is not the same as before. This is worse._

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

He is taken.

Around him are others, scared and powerful. They all cling to ideals and survival, some darker than others, and his demise comes from this.

He is stabbed; he is brought back.

By the lords he thinks it would be better if this was it, but it was not his choice.

* * *

><p><em>He is leaning over Sam now, aligning them together as he guides Sam, backwards, into the room. Tenderness fills his face as he smiles at Sam.<em>

_He positions them atop the bed, with Sam beneath him, and strokes Sam's arms. He grips them tightly in possessive aching, because Sam is Lucifer's and this is what he has won._

_He tells Sam how perfect he is, showering him with something akin to warmth._

"_I've been waiting for this."_

* * *

><p>He did not ask for this:<p>

Dean dies, again and again. Sam does this to his brother, by being weak, by being dirty.

Dean dies under the hands of trickery and Dean dies under the terms of sacrifice.

And he comes back, because he is good and because Sam cannot imagine the world without him.

But each time, Sam dies inside, twisting under cold blood and addiction and he is lost.

* * *

><p><em>Sam is underneath Lucifer, eyes fluttering and breath halting. He feels that, if it were possible, he would run out of air. Because he is having trouble breathing, each gasp getting stuck and choking him. His fingers spread and stretch outwards, taut and shaking, as if reaching for something else- but there is nothing for him besides this. <em>

_It hurts._

* * *

><p>The devil rises from Sam's deeds.<p>

He wants for good, but he is wrong.

So this is what happens- The End follows the realm, spreading under demon and horseman and unstoppable force, and Sam must make the choice.

* * *

><p><em>Straining, stretching and writhing- how he passes the time with Lucifer. He struggles to move away, but Lucifer loves him too tight. He holds onto Sam with big, calloused hands and doesn't stop.<em>

* * *

><p>He asks for this:<p>

The claim of Lucifer.

The fall of them both.

* * *

><p><em>Lucifer says, milky satisfaction dripping from him, "I love this," and holds Sam close.<em>


	14. Hands of a Father

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**A/N: Whew, it feels like it's been FOREVER since I've posted anything (really, like two weeks, but they've been a BUSY two weeks :/)! Anyways, here's something new and yay I'm back! :)**

* * *

><p>If I called him Dad, would he be my father?<p>

He stands so tall and lives on the outskirt of my eyes, because here he is but I share him with the dead.

This man is my father- not by blood, but by the friendship and by the bonds we share. We know the fear of creatures skittering the realms of unrealism and have faced certain death. We know the love that comes from dependence and sharing it with the singular most important persons in our worlds. We love Metallica.

I was taken by a changeling and almost lost my mother. I watched as more and more kids were shoved into cages and I was so scared, but I knew I wouldn't die without a fight. And then Dean came in- the bold, cool stranger who flirted with my mom and appreciated my sentiments towards womanly prowess and retro music. He saved my life that night and I never forgot.

Years passed before I saw him again. I thought he forgot us; I thought we were just a blip on a radar of things to hunt and people in danger.

I had plenty of time to think, to consider and, growing older, I waited for something.

It wasn't until Dean returned that I realized I was waiting for a father.

* * *

><p>"Dean." And I wait a moment.<p>

"Dean." I wait one more moment.

"Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean… DEAN!"

And Dean rolls himself out from under the car, his _Baby_, "Alright, alright. What d'ya want?" Impatience shines, but teasingly because I'm awesome and he likes me.

"Whatcha doing?" 'Whatcha' is drawn out, light and airy like I have all the time in the world.

"Fixing up my baby. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I know _that_! You're always working on her. Shouldn't she be good to go by now?"

Dean has been wiping oil from his tools and his pants and his face with a towel, but he stops in order to give me his focused attention. I can tell he's going to say something enlightening.

"Perfection takes work. Baby is only so smoking because she's carefully maintained by," and here he raises his hands to about face level and wiggles them, "These talented digits."

Okay, so maybe Dean's version of enlightenment is different than most people's and considerably more pervy. I still take in every word. If I'm ever going to drive around in my own hot ride, these are the things I'm going to have to know.

"Can I help?" I ask nonchalantly, because Dean gets nervous around people who are overeager. I think he gets suspicious that they're up to no good- which is a totally fair assumption, because this one time last year, _Tommy_ _Gibson _got really excited when he found out I had the newest Assassin's Creed game and begged me to bring it in so he could look at it. I asked him why and he said it was because he was so awed he wanted to see it with his own eyes, in person. When I agreed, bringing it in the next day, he tried to steal it from me! So yes, nonchalant is the way to go.

Dean considers me, looking for any hints of malice or sabotage in me, but my face is a passive mask of willingness and he agrees.

Dean gestures grandly, with hands that will always be stained with oil, towards the hood of the car and tells me what everything is and what it does as he tightens bolts and wipes down surfaces.

He doesn't let me touch anything and he makes me fetch him a beer at least five times, but I know it's only a matter of time before he lets me under the hood with his tools in my hands.

* * *

><p>He towers over me. His shadow pulls me along and he uses his body to physically lead me along- a reassuring nudge or a hand tugging me into his range.<p>

I think he has instincts that will always stay with him, instincts that tell him to stay close and linger, so that trouble will hit him first.

* * *

><p>It's official. I'm never ever going back to school again. Ever.<p>

I'm not a big fan of school or studying in the first place, but I draw the line at dealing with smelly, fat dweebs. George and Doug- and seriously, who names their kids George and Doug?- have been following me for the past week and calling me names. They say, 'Hey skunk brain!' or 'How's the weather down their pewee?' and I've been very unimpressed by how much time they're devoting to this.

But today, they tried to fight me and they made fun of my mom for dating Dean instead of having a husband. Of course, I punched their clocks out then, but I still never want to see their bruised, snot faces again.

I'm storming across sidewalks and the road towards our house, towards Dean who will definitely be home by now, and I'm thinking of using the afternoon to practice being sick so that I can convince Mom and Dean to let me stay home from school tomorrow.

"What's wrong Ben?" Dean asks the instant I open the front door, calmly and with a cup of coffee in his hand, and I must have forgotten who I was dealing with to think that he wouldn't have noticed how angry I am.

I force myself to straighten up, unloosening my limbs and relaxing my frown into a more neutral position. "Nothing, Dean." And I'm a good liar on most accounts, but Dean is better, because as he says, he '_lies for a living_._' _

"I'm going to have to call bullshit on that one kiddo. Now Ben, what's wrong?"

I may be grown up for my age, but I'm not unbreakable, so of course I tell Dean everything at this point. By the time I've told him what happened, his face has become wrinkled from furrowed eyebrows and a frown. I can tell he's thinking, because he always looks grouchy when he thinks.

"Did you punch them?"

I nod and say, "Of course!"

He gives me a half smile of approving nostalgia before saying, "Awesome. Now you need to teach them not to mess with a Wi- uh, Braeden"

He steps away from the counter and makes sweeping gestures, leaning towards me when he gets especially excited, to go along with worded explanations- Dean teaches me about psychological warfare.

* * *

><p>He doesn't do hugs or nightly tuck-ins or any of that girly stuff, but I can tell he cares. He, <em>playfully<em>, cuffs the back of my head and smacks my chest and pushes me forward.

He doesn't do that with anyone else. He keeps his distance and never turns his back to them and he only reaches out for necessity.

* * *

><p>She's on the phone again. She's mad and then she's begging and I hate when Mom is upset.<p>

I hate even more that it's because of Dean.

He left yesterday and we have no idea where he is. The Impala's gone too. He might not come back, I tell myself that because I can't wait for him to turn up dead before I realize this.

We wait.

He does come back.

Mom sends me up to my room when we hear his car pull up into the driveway and then I listen through the vents (older homes have their uses) when they start to talk.

Turns out, Dean was out on a _hunt_!

He was having some sort of identity crisis, which I've totally heard mentioned a lot when adults get together and talk. A lot of guys have them. They're called a _mid-life crisis_.

Mom seems really freaked out, but Dean's back and that's all that matters.

I fall asleep, secure in the fact that Dean is here to stay.

The next morning I ask Dean what the hunt was like and he says to me, "What hunt?" I would almost believe him, except his head turns slightly towards the garage,

towards the Impala and the road and the hunt, and his hands clench into fists.

* * *

><p>I follow him around and take whatever he will give me. He teaches me about cars and defeating bullies, but I pester him for more- for the other half of his life. I want to be just like him, I want to risk my life and feel the rush and be a hero.<p>

I want to be a _hunter_, but he will not let me see; he will not tell me who he is. I've waited a long time for a father though, and I can wait for this too.


	15. Escapism and Heroes (Part 1)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's glorious existence is through no actions of mine.**

**A/N: There's not really any gore or torture in this, so I guess that's either a 'Yay!' or a 'Nay!' depending on who you are? :P**

**As the title of this chapter suggests, this is part 1 of a 'Hell Storyline' that will continue in the next chapter that involves Sam in the Cage.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>He could save Adam, you know. He could do it just like this-<em>

* * *

><p>The devil is not always around.<p>

Satan is not always around.

Lucifer has these _moods_.

He's trapped just like the rest of them, only more powerful, more vengeful. He had a family that turned from him and he only grows more bitter as time goes on. His mind is a cavern of sadism and intent, but there is a pool of indulgent misery that must be up kept with whining solitude.

And these are the times when Sam is given momentary reprieve.

He is left to rot in varying states of mangled distress, only he holds a certain amount of power from time, experience, and lineage that is magnified down under. He is part demon, part Lucifer's kept toy. He knows things. He knows how to put himself together well enough from will to be able to move.

So he does, he gets up and walks on soul-imprinted legs towards the storm.

* * *

><p>The bluest purple swirls of wrath, the bluest purple burbling of stinging water and roiling noise, the tempests of caged angel; Michael manifests above the heads of the damned and above his ward.<p>

Sam watches off in the distance and he fears the light of Michael, burning in the storm. It is _other_ in nature, something that sears warmer than Lucifer and it is a heat fanning deeply, until it touches bone. So it pains him and he wonders if he can even make it.

But he will go.

He takes each step, shakily and with fear, but he's always known fear and that is not the problem.

What will he come against? Michael will doubtlessly be a figure of fury, deathly bright and holy, but what of Adam?

Will he be a quivering pile of bones and guts and broken, silent for all these years? Will he be pliant and willing to the whims of a greater being?

Will he be there at all?

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><p>Ringing ears, rattling bones, rumbling ground and Sam is so close.<p>

_Why are you here?_

Sam's nails are torn and half-way shredded from pulling himself along, clinging to what remains rooted in the ground because the winds grow harsher as he gets closer and they would blow him away if not for his desperation.

_You must be lost, ant._

There is lightening striking the ground, striking the air. Each blast rings in his ears and grows closer in warning and threat, near enough to singe the hairs upon his arms and the air he breathes tastes smoked.

_Turn around. There is nothing for you here._

Gusts of wind wail, screaming like human and the noise is so loud it feels as if it could grab Sam and carry him away with arms made of bodily manifested shrieking.

_He's dead, bloody and waiting with open eyes for you to find him._

And then it stops.

The clouds above him remain, still hued by the bluest purples, but the clamor and dread and storm of existence is mercifully, dully deadened. It's as if Michael is waiting for Sam's reaction, giving him center stage and a moment to look. Because right there in the middle of leering clouds and paused gale is Adam.

His form is still physical and he must be the only man left in this world.

This place is dirty and torturous and endless, but Adam is fragile. His skin breaks and he bleeds, his body craves for food and water. He is emaciated, because there is nothing here for him.

Sam takes halting step after halting step towards him. He reaches Adam and falls to his knees.

They stay that way forever.

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><p>"It's alright, I've got you." He says it pleadingly, because he wants it to be true but he isn't sure if it is.<p>

He promises, "I'll protect you. Just rest your eyes, you can sleep now."

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><p><em>Really? This is what you want?<em>

* * *

><p>And Sam carries his brother away, past upturned dirt and roots, past cooked landscape and far, far away from the storm of Michael, stopped though it is now.<p>

Everything is quieter than it has been in a lifetime.

There are no shrieking souls or cackling demons. Lucifer is away.

The only sound is Adam breathing, slowly and evenly, like he might still be alive. He curls in on himself, held up by Sam's arms and shadowed by the protective hunch of Sam as he leans over Adam.

They move as a duo across worlds, because Hell is made up of every place to ever have existed, because everyone's Hell is here. There are mountains dripping blood and trees with blinking golden eyes perched upon them and tall grass that whispers as it's blown by wind. The night and day fight for action, dark and light changing suddenly and randomly in ways bound to give whiplash and seizures.

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><p>There is a cabin that he found when he was a boy.<p>

His father had left him to gather the tools for their games, so Sam had explored. Daddy never liked him doing things alone, but Sam did it secretly and found that Daddy never realized it had existed at all.

Now he knows that Daddy was the devil is disguise, but the cabin is still hidden and forgotten amidst all of the designs of Hell.

This is where he takes Adam and he lets Adam find himself.

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><p><em>I'm everywhere, I'm with you always.<em>

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><p>It has been weeks and Sam has learned how to make a variety of things- anything ranging from baked beans to scrambled eggs. That is to say, he's not very good at cooking, but food is food.<p>

He makes meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and if he's lucky, Adam will eat every meal offered. If not, well, Sam is an endless pit of stomach and muscle.

Sam has also taken to talking to Adam. He tells Adam stories of above so as to remind him of where they came from, what they can be.

Above, Sam was a mistake. He created chaos and everyone he loved died. But sometimes… Sometimes he got it right. He saved the day and drank in celebration with his brother and they were heroes. Those are the times that are important to remember.

He's no fool though. He remembers how Adam was above and expects that it would only be magnified down here.

Adam was ill adjusted and bitter, and Sam's recollections of heroism will not absolve that. Other than knowing that Adam's mother is dead and that he hates his relation to all things Winchester, Sam knows nothing about Adam. So he can only hope his tales of hope and defeat can spark something in Adam so as to wake him. Maybe irritation.

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><p>It takes years before Adam stirs and then Sam is so excited, he hardly realizes Adam has fallen back into his comatose state of habit.<p>

It takes even more years and years after that for Adam to truly awaken. When he does, Sam clings to him and tells him that everything will be alright.

Adam spits out, "Get the hell off of me," and then shoves Sam off the bed.

Sam only smiles harder.

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><p><em>Aw, a family reunion. How sweet. <em>

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><p>When Adam is awake long enough to gather his wits and realize that he is no longer on Earth- red skies, screaming people, and the smell of decay are all helpful hints- he asks Sam, "What the hell is going on?"<p>

So Sam tells him, eyes blank and back stiffly straight, because Adam has a right to know, but it is endless and he hopes Adam will not grasp the hopelessness of the situation.

Adam speaks slowly, each word uttered with movement of his tongue, "So, what you're telling me is that we're in Hell and we've both been tortured for longer than you can remember?"

Anxiously, Sam says, "Yup, pretty much."

And Adam, a true Winchester at heart no matter what he claims, says, "Well shit."


	16. That Girl's Got Spunk

**Whole Chapter Name: ****That Girl's Got Spunk (See What She Does to Me)**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Supernatural is not part of the stuff that belongs to me.<strong>

**A/N: ****Hey guys! This chapter is doing some flipping between past (italicized) and present. You know the deal: Read, enjoy, and review! :)**

**Warning: 'Shit' and 'goddamn' are used at some point (holy moly, that's intense...)! Implied sex (but seriously, this is Dean we're talking about, so isn't it always implied?).**

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><p>Dean lives a life made of destiny.<p>

That's why his mother is dead and his brother is in the Cage and he was, once upon a time, the vessel of a very powerful, very conceited angel.

So it makes sense, in the way that all things 'Dean Winchester' must mix together on a tape of hunting, responsibility, and death, that Lisa is more than a hot babe in a bar that once, many years and several mistakes ago, stumbled into Dean's bed and came back again and again. She's got spunk.

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><p><em>And Dean is knocking back beers. Aimless and lazy, he leans against the bar and his gaze wanders. <em>

_That man over there, the one with bull buckled belt and embroidered western shirt, is playing a game far over his head. Dean can see it in the way he moves his arms in large gestures (overcompensating) and how shoulders twitch when he speaks. _

_The tall woman who's wearing a miniskirt and long sleeved, fish net shirt is scared. She walks with sharp stomps of her feet and the furrow of her outlined eyebrows is forced, a cover._

_As Dean watches, quieter than he has been most of his life but not so unusual these days, a woman struts up to him. And her walk really is a strut, long strides and chest out, but at a slow and even pace. She's gorgeous._

_Lithe, and for all that she is slender, she looks like she'd wrestle Dean if she felt so inclined. It's all in the eyes- dark, wide, and flinty. Because she scopes the place and even if her intent is different from Dean's, it makes a statement. This woman is sharp._

"_Let's save the small talk. Yes, I come here often. Every Saturday, in fact. No, I don't have a habit of falling or getting injured on the way down, and trust me," and this smooth talking, raven haired beauty gives Dean a smirk that brings him close to blushing, except he ain't no virgin, "I'm no angel."_

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><p>"Dean!" Lisa calls for him, followed by a series of clanks from the kitchen.<p>

She's been muttering to herself all day and now she has to make 50 cookies for a thing Ben has going on. Dean's not really sure what the thing is and he's not entirely convinced that Lisa knows either, but here she is, ambling around and mixing eggs.

Dean makes his way over, arms swinging and a slight smile on his face. Lisa is not a fan of cooking, but is forced to today for the sake of honor and follow through and what have you, and her usually cool temper is flaring.

Before Dean can open his mouth and say '_yes dear?_' (Which is a phrase that's never crossed his mind before now, so he's not sure as to why that is his sudden inclination or what it says about him), Lisa whirls around and their eyes lock.

This woman has a second sight, a penchant for searching Dean out and hounding him to do her bidding. Today she's like a witch, except her magic comes from within and Dean's got only his wits to counter it.

"Dean, clean these bowls. I need the silver one and the tiny one for this next step," and she huffs the words out, impatient and frayed from stress. He can almost hear her saying, '_I hate this shit_,' because even with the piercing intellect and well spoken nature Lisa is graced with, she is by no means a cook.

So Dean obeys, silently and without making direct eye contact, because his wits are telling him to do this or face Lisa's wrath.

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><p>And she's powerful. Most times, she's soft spoken. Not out of any sense of fragility, she's a single mother and her son was a lady charmer since the delicate age of five, but because she's not worried about being heard. People <em>will<em> listen to her.

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><p><em>He stays the night. He <em>_sleeps__ with her and then he sleeps with her._

_Morning comes and he's loose and airy. The vixen is spread beside him, mussed up hair and limbs spread eagle. He's a vision too, with uneven stubble and dark, pronounced shadows under his eyes. _

_She was rockin', whispering spicy words through the night and he finds he likes her. But, he is, truly, a love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy and he's immune to sentimentality. So he leaves._

_It was a good night and finds he's eager for another night like. For now though, he wants to find something to gank._

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><p>In the silence of his mind, Dean is soft. Declarations of love and fondness whirl in his mind, beating against gruff disposition.<p>

It's with startling revelation that he realizes he's going soft. The hunter is draining out of him and he's going civilian. He's even got a bag of golfing gear.

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><p>Lisa is good with Dean, alone and with Ben around. She's got a balance of flirting and parent behaviors, which Dean is still working on.<p>

She can be cuddled up in Dean's space, leaning into his hand and practically _purring_, but then she'll pull away. Not two seconds later, Ben will be in the room. And Dean has gotten passed the '_how did she do that?!_' stage, to which the favorite response had been: "I'm just that good," which was followed by Dean almost wanting to curse God, because man, the wink that goes with that.

But Dean's passed that now and just rolls with it, halfway convinced that Lisa could exorcise a demon with an especially forceful batting of her eyelashes.

Back on point though: Lisa flirts, Ben appears, Dean bumbles, and then Ben will say something innocuous and kid-like, like "Mom, can Dean take me to the car shop again?" And then Dean's heart will melt, along with other things, and he suddenly goes into role model mode, sort of.

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><p><em>What a girl- babe, hottie, grooving' moovin' chica.<em>

_And she's a multitasker. It's not like Dean is pointing that out with any sort of longing, because he's two states and one week away, but he's just saying. Because that's the sort of talent that deserves acknowledgement, admiration…_

…_Okay, so __maybe__ sometimes he'll think about her, the Goddamn, She's a Rockstar Lisa. And he'll let himself get as far as, 'what a night,' because Dean doesn't do relationships and he can tell that, in all sorts of manners and ways but especially in this way, Lisa is all sorts of trouble._


	17. Escapism and Heroes (Part 2)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**A/N: ****Okay guys, I'm thinking about wrapping this story up in a couple of chapters.**

**...**

**...**

**There are two things you all should be made aware of before then:**

**-If anyone's got a request for a chapter, now would be the time to ask. **

**-Also, if anyone wants extra chapters relating to Sam and Dean together after Sam's Hell trip, feel free to ask for that too.**

**...**

**...**

**Let me know through PM or a review; however is good for you. S****peak now (or, y'know, within the next two weeks: April 14th) or forever hold your peace. ;) **

**Warnings: Adam's got some anger issues, which mostly manifest through potty mouth.**

**Enjoy! :)**

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><p>His mother is dead and the angels say they can bring her back.<p>

His 'brothers' offer him the bright and shiny alternative of not doing that and most likely dying in the apocalypse.

They are, by some flaw that must be genetic, stunned when he doesn't like that idea as much as _bringing his mom back to life_ and then make him stay anyways because it turns out he didn't really have a choice at all.

For a while, he can't find a way to get back to the angels, but that issue gets solved easily enough when Zachariah snaps his fingers. Man, does Adam wish he learned that trick back in the summer when he was still a kid and tried to become a magician.

And he's surrounded by glamorous decorum (ho hum) and (this is where it gets good) the most delicious burgers he's ever tasted. Zachariah is talking to him about boring political things and Adam pretends to care because the stuffed shirt is going to give him his mom back.

Amidst the talking and anticipation and hope, he and the angel find that they are suddenly not alone, because his half-related dweeb brothers are busting in.

There's yelling and fighting and (_he's not going to get his mother back, it was all just a ploy_) then… nothing.

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><p>Sam is blabbering on about Dean again and Adam swears if he listens hard enough, he can hear the sound of his stomach churning with indigestion.<p>

Adam decides that Sam really is a true and awful bastard. Adam wants to punch Sam in the face because Adam's getting really sick of having to look at Sam like he's a human when it's all his fault the apocalypse started and Adam is in Hell. Besides, Sam is dead (Hell, remember?), so it doesn't really matter what Adam does.

Sam sits on Adam's bed (and since when does Hell have beds? Or remote cabins that have been mysteriously created but that the devil supposedly has no knowledge about?), hogging over half of it with his giant tree body.

"Do you ever shut up?"

Somehow, Sam has the gall to look hurt. Because he's such a gentle creature who would never even dream of harming a hair on the heads of anyone- except, oh yeah, Adam.

There is a long pause and, sure, the question may have been rhetorical, but now Adam's kind of waiting for Sam to say something.

Adam gestures, as if to say, '_spit it out_' and Sam's wrinkled forehead smooths out, making him look more like the unflappable hunter that he is, and he says, "You're awake."

And now Adam is convinced that Sam lost his marbles long ago, because what the hell does that mean?

Except, now that Adam thinks about it, he doesn't really remember how he got here. Somehow he knows they're in Hell. Somehow he knows a lot of things he doesn't actually remember knowing. Almost as if someone has told him about this before, so he has the story in his head, but the actual experiences aren't his.

When Adam really thinks about it, the last memory that actually belongs to him is from the last time he saw Sam with Dean and Bobby and they were telling him that angels are douchebags.

Adam has to ask, "What the hell is going on?"

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><p>Once Adam gets over the fact that <em>He's in Hell and he's never going home and don't forget all the decades of torture that will probably come back to him in the form of debilitating flashbacks<em>, he notices that Sam is a horrible cook.

It's eggs and baked beans every day.

It's boring and repetitive and _annoying_. It builds up inside of him, until one day he just can't take it anymore.

He shoves Sam to the side, saying "Let me do it," muttering all the while. He pretends that the thought of chopping and cooking and serving meals made of twisted up foods doesn't make the back of his mind itch.

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><p>Take a moment to reflect, remember well the life that is his. Because Hell is bullshit and he should be far off in the clouds at the very least.<p>

Winchester.

It's the worst name in the universe and Adam remembers going to ball games with a Winchester. _His father_. Yeah, because John totally counts as a father seeing as he was always there for Christmas and birthdays, ready to pick Adam up from school or friends' houses. Oh, wait.

And now, all because of some fucking name, Adam's in Hell. Like he said, bullshit.

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><p>Sam leaves the cabin every morning. He walks out the front door like it's the end of the world and he's never coming back. Adam imagines he would probably feel the same way too if he went out in search of the devil.<p>

But Sam always comes back. He practically flounces into the room, because the devil still doesn't know where they are and that is a terror they'll face on another day. Adam rolls his eyes, because he doesn't know where Sam gets off having some sort of hope in a situation like this.

Sam might be scared, but Adam's practical. They're going to be found and it'll be back to being tortured for eternity.

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><p>Months pass and Adam is still just as pissed as when he first woke up. Sam is tall and awkward and hesitant. Maybe he's a genius and fighter, but he walks around like Adam might break if Sam breathes.<p>

Usually, Adam doesn't say anything, but when he does complain, Sam takes it in stride. Adam finds that the next day Sam will have fixed whatever it is that Adam was pissed about and things aren't as bad as they were the day before.

That's not to say that this whole situation still doesn't suck ass, because it totally does.

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><p>"Do you remember anything?" It could have been another typical day of hiding in Hell, but it isn't because Sam has to open his big, fat mouth.<p>

Adam wants to scoff, play it off as something else. Pretend that Sam thinks Adam has amnesia over his whole life and that Sam isn't talking about Hell.

But when Adam tries to scoff, what comes out instead are memories.

_The screams roar in his head, pounding loud enough to move his skull, and he thinks he can hear a voice (Sam's?) saying,_ _"I think I knew you once" and then there is a response that has to be his own, "Knew- Knew each other? __I'm your brother, you jackass.__"_

_His head hurts so fucking much, because he thinks he can feel the ocean pouring out of his ears, heavy and washing away blood. Thunder roars in harmony with the shrieks of demons (Are they singing? They have to be, because it sounds so beautiful and what does that say about Adam if the demons aren't trying to sound like that?)._

_Michael's laughter becomes his bones. Each twist of joy sears through him, breaking off marrow. And Michael whispers like pellets of hail, __'Careful now little reject Winchester. All alone and waiting for help that will never come. Careful or you might start to forget that.'_

_The anger is so potent, Adam can't decide whether to cower or run. But the decision is made when he looks down and realizes his legs are just bones now, white and brittle._

_And he's so scared, afraid he'll hear Michael speak again-_

"_Adam!"_

"_Adam!"_

"Adam! Listen to me. You're safe! I'm going to protect you, I swear."

And suddenly Adam doesn't feel so angry. Just scared and so, so tired. But he can't let Sam off that easy, so he says, "What makes you so sure?"

Sam looks at him with such sadness, like Adam is _missing _something, and says, "Because we're family."


	18. The Complex Question of What to Do

This is part of the **The-Turducken-Affairs' Mini Writing Extravaganza**, a self-proclaimed writing event in which I've dedicated this Saturday (actually, only part of it, because I did end up having to do things. Ew. Things.) to writing Supernatural stuff. I've written updates for four preexisting stories and wrote a new one shot! Hooray?

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me.<strong>

**A/N: So this is more of a transition chapter. It covers parts that were in the show, but it will bring us to the end of this story. **

**Also, LilyBolt and** **Naivaraeladrin both made requests and those are on their way! (Don't worry Naivaraeladrin, this chapter does not at all count as fulfilling your request!)**

**I'm still taking requests (Is there something you wanted to see happen to Sam in Hell? Maybe you wanted more Adam, Michael, Lucifer, or people in Dean's life? Did you want domestic Dean to do something that he didn't? I'm all ears guys. And you can request more than one thing, it's all good.).**

**Thanks for all the support so far guys! **

**Read, enjoy, review! :)**

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><p>Has he ever really gone all in?<p>

She stands here in front of him, a smile working its way onto her face and he can almost ignore the crinkle of worry, but he can't help that the thought worms into his skull when his time runs off into the night and he does not once turn to Lisa.

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><p>Because it starts off like any other day, except, at a bar with a friend he is let in on the fact that for all of the family building and child guiding he has done, he is still quite the lady's man.<p>

He can smile vaguely at that, almost working his way up to genuinely pleased, but his whole day is off set with wrong. It's as if today is the first day in a new start and things are so, so different.

He's on edge and vigilant. He wonders if he can ever lose his hunting instincts, because he leaves the bar but brings the leftover salt packets with him, hands at the ready even as they burn a hole into his pocket, so obviously there and he's feeling all the more wrong.

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><p>It has been going on for months and days and hours since he walked under doorway and entered another world of homes and honest living and neighbors.<p>

She showed it to him, in softness and listening and giving time. She told him of a life where he could be happy, where he could find what he wanted and all he had to do was search it out. She gave him the ignorance of a woman not brought to war, every question about his life and sweetly uttered encouragement screaming it at Dean.

Because she can turn her eyes towards Dean and away and back again without secret meaning, Dean knows she is lighter with her burdens.

Because she lets a man reeking of tragedy and guilty habits live with her and she shares with him her son, Dean knows she holds trust.

Because she walks with an open stance and does not bat an eye nor twitch an ear at what Dean always notices and scans first, Dean knows they are different.

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><p>His fears are real.<p>

The fire has followed him, from first home to never homes to here. And Lisa will burn; he'll see her turn to char as gravity lets her crumble.

The blood has followed him. Because _it's all his fault_ and there is nothing he can do when Ben turns compliant to arms draping along his shoulders, saying _drink it._

Azazel has followed him, raising from the dead because _something big is coming_ and Dean can only squeeze his eyes and believe the twisted imagination of a one-time torturer is dark enough to know of all the things that could happen (because worse has to be an impossible thing at some point).

He shakes his head, turning away from what he cannot watch, but he turns back when he also cannot hide from his own nightmares come alive. Not with the shrieking and harsh whispers and his arms are searing with hard, numbing jabs.

And it all turns to horrors, but the back of his mind replays the very first thing he saw: _Sam has followed him_.

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><p>He knows this is his place.<p>

He is not foolish or stupid, so he knows this place is not free nor easy, but paved by back and muscles smoothing the dirt and patting in rocks until the path is stone- sturdy, lasting, set.

How could he walk away from paths hard earned and speaking of promises long since made and consistently renewed?

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><p>He comes back into himself, alive and shaky like he never used to be. Should he be glad that he finds fear in these sorts of things now?<p>

But, no. It wasn't all lies and delusions, because Sam is right there.

He's wished for all the seconds of all the days that this would happen, but it's like it's tainted now- following on the heels of visions and remnant terror.

Still, when Sam comes in for the hug, Dean lets him.

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><p>Could she be doubting as he will not let himself do?<p>

Her touches are coming shorter and her words are too.

They are in synch of each other, doing again and again until it is no longer living but rather habit of performance.

Events fill his mind, the turmoil of days growing like it has not for a long time, and he finds himself asking questions.

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><p>Sam is different.<p>

He's a shade paler and darker all the same. Dean almost wonders if this Sam knows how to feel, but it's not the sort of question he's ever gotten himself to truly wonder.

Sam's too still, even as a smile fills his face, the eyes are dead. It's as if he doesn't want to waste energy on the extras- a far mile away from Sam a year ago, unless Dean has been forgetting and he's just an old man hanging onto the outlines of memories marred by time.

But as different as it all is, Sam is his brother and he shows him the world he promised he would find. Because there is Lisa and Ben and here is his house and, even if he doesn't mention it now, he's got a job and even friends. Apple pie life a la Sam.

But Sam just looks vacant, behind the not quite real smile, and Dean wishes things were simple. It's either this or that.

But he quickly turns that off, because he's getting everything he's ever wished for.

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><p>Night falls and Dean is next to Lisa.<p>

Hunting made its way into his life, even though he's fought it before, and he's at a loss with a brother who is so off, but maybe went to the Cage long enough to be messed up.

It hits him randomly and suddenly; _I haven't really talked to Ben all day._

And as his mind goes, Lisa whispers into his ear, "What're you thinking about."

He snorts, shakes his head and she sighs, but she doesn't turn away.

Instead, she grabs his hand, _and boy is her hand freezing_, kissing his cheek but actually right next to his eye, and murmers, "I still love you Dean. This is all new and strange, but you've got your brother back. This is a good thing."

Then, she falls to her side of the bed and sleeps.


	19. Escapism and Heroes (Part 3)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.**

**A/N: Oh my gooooooooooood. Doc manager would not let me submit any documents for the past few days. It was torture. (Although, if Sam were to hear me say that, I think he might give me a very long look that conveyed all sorts of feelings of a disapproving nature on that.)**

**I think for this chapter, it's important to keep in mind what was happening to Sam before the "Escapism and Heroes' chapters and also to keep in mind all of _italics_ going on in "Escapism and Heroes (Part 1)."**

**Read, enjoy, review! :)**

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><p><em>Sometimes, don't you just want to be held?<em>

_Don't you ever wish that, for even one second, you weren't anything?_

_No more duty, no more fear, no more failure. Just me. And baby, sweet, sweet little Sammy, I would hold you for eternity._

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><p>Adam has been growing quieter, but his words are still sharper than vampire fangs when he feels so inclined. In this, Sam is not sure how to feel. He could worry that Adam is not well. He could be glad that Adam is adjusting and will not always be a hateful thing of rage.<p>

Sam does not make a choice though, because there are other things to think about.

He's so tired and he's surprised to find that even in Hell, sleep is possible. What he never thought of before was that sleep would be, in its own right, a piece of Hell.

Because it's as if every dream asks what he wants and says, _you can have that,_ but it twists and he can feel his brain pouring out his ears in delirious ecstasy and agony. This makes perfect sense though; because of course Sam's life must be complicated in every facet of it.

Even in Hell dreams.

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><p><em>You're just confused. Come back and I'll tell you what you are.<em>

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><p>Adam walks behind Sam and he startles, almost dropping out of his skin (Which Sam has discovered is totally possible, if not desirable, and is also really, completely disgusting not to mention painful, though most of those are kind of a given.).<p>

So Sam whirls around, fingers trembling but the rest of his frame far too large for it to be noticeable, and instead of fighting a fate that he has since been left with Lucifer, Sam swallows his panic.

He shakes off the scattered thoughts and ghosts of uninvited touching, so that he can say, "Yes?" in as approachable of a voice as possible.

Adam, however, only glowers at Sam and turns away. Almost as if he thinks Sam is hiding something other than his always present terror.

Sam stands there for a while longer (though really, how long is a while in a place like this? However long it takes to bleed a Winchester hanging from the rafters? However long it takes to scream out your throat and the passing seconds after that, where you wait on edge, wondering if your lungs are next? However longs it takes…) and he can swear he hears Lucifer's laughter.

Not good.

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><p><em>Come back my precious little doll. I miss you. I miss how your blood is so warm and runny as it falls through my fingers. <em>

_Don't __you__ miss the soothing cool of me pressed to your skin? _

_Face it, my forever toy, I complete you. I'm the strings of your act and you're the dancing of my whims._

* * *

><p>Sam dreads the rise and fall of Hell's sun. And like dreams, these are the little things that carry from Earth to here.<p>

If he were to think of the reasons, he might decide it is like souls wearing their bodies, in that they all expect to see the sun, so it is there. Or maybe he would think of it as Hell's gift to all of her guests, a reminder of time passing, as if to say, with each rotation of day and night, '_you're that much closer to nothing. You'll be here the next time sun comes up, and then comes down, and then up, and then down, and'..._

So yes, he finds that he does not so much like the sun and cast down beams of red (what other color would it be? All there is any more is red. He sees bloody hands and red pouring down from the skies and grass dyed red from guts drunk in and…).

* * *

><p><em>I'm waiting for you. When will you come? <em>

_I'll mark your visit down in my little red book._

* * *

><p>Adam made Sam breakfast once.<p>

It was not very good, but then, who is Sam to judge?

And besides, maybe it was good. Sam does not remember the taste, come to think of it. Everything is starting to taste like burning fingers.

Somehow, he finds relief in knowing it is a taste he still finds "not very good."

* * *

><p><em>Don't leave me here to rot! <em>

* * *

><p>Sam likes to make the bed. He tucks corners with military folds and huffs at the fact that he is terrible at it.<p>

All his life and it's been motels and running and "_Housekeeping_!"

His father may have liked order, may have taught them to roll their clothes like they did back in his day ('_In the marine corps,'_ Sam mouths to himself, almost smiling.) when underutilized space was a sin to spit at, but Dad never taught them to clean. Well, except for guns. But Sam doesn't have a gun, he has a bed.

* * *

><p><em>Sam! How could you leave me? We're family and you're gone, again and again and again. I'm your brother dammit. I <em>_raised__ you._

_Sammy?_

_Come back. Please._

* * *

><p>For all of the pain in this place, Sam has never hurt himself.<p>

He has been avoiding that. Because pain is pain is pain and he hates this place. He hates what it has done to him. He hates the terror, the trembling like a traumatized child, the separation of man and shell.

He _hates_ Hell. And that is the most basic thing, almost stupid in its simplicity, but the truth often is.

Right, so Sam is not a self-inflictor.

But sometimes he wishes he were, because being a victim is no better. It's almost worse. He has no control.

Besides, if he gave himself the pain, would it be his own voice he heard in his head (all day and through the nights; living Hell and Hell dreams.) instead of Lucifer's?

But then again, it's not just Lucifer's voice anymore.

And wouldn't it be hilarious if Sam was just plain old batty, just a man broken down into schizophrenic psychosis, with no family or destiny or Dean, but with a whole world on play in his mind?

It would make more sense than all of this.

* * *

><p><em>Isn't it time to just end all of this?<em>

_You've had your fun, now run along Sammy. Come back where you belong._

_We're family after all._

* * *

><p>Everyday Sam checks around the cabin; watches out for <em>Lucy<em>.

Because he has a little brother, the most important thing he has now, and Adam must be safe (saved).

So Sam will leave, with a gulp and an "I'm going out," (never a goodbye).

He takes a step and he takes another. Before he knows it, he has made the run unscathed and tortures only follow him in memory.

Except for Today.

Today, Sam does not return to the cabin.


	20. I Don't Know How He Does It

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**Warning: This chapter references a lot of stuff that happened during the first half of season 6. **

**A/N: To those of you who noticed, yes the chapter title is a reference to the movie, "I Don't Know how She Does It" (yYknow, the one with the busy working mom who runs around in high heels all the freakin' time? Anyways...)**

**I guess you could say, Dean Winchester _is_ Sarah Jessica Parker... Or not. But seriously, I thought the chapter title was pretty on the mark, because Dean has a lot of stuff going on in his life at this point.**

**There is one quote from the show in here. Lisa says it.**

**Read, enjoy, review! :)**

* * *

><p>He begins to ask himself things no man should have to ask.<p>

He begins to lose faith in something that has been right for so long.

He begins to think that his brother is a monster.

* * *

><p>It's coming down to this one thing- this balance that is not so balanced and he's slipping.<p>

How many more _talks_ can they have before Lisa realizes he's danger? She's been with him a year and sure, he felt close to human, but he can't block off his old life when he's living it all over again, now.

There is Dean: lover, brother, surrogate father, hunter, criminal- and it's not so simple when each role takes from him and some roles are from different breeds all together.

He searching for the overlap, because he wants to be all of these things, but it keeps coming back to one simple thing.

He's no good.

* * *

><p>Think of it like this.<p>

He know what grief does to a person- that has been, after all, his whole life in one miserable, gnarled wiring of brain activity.

Because it's as if his actions are driven by loss and loss and only loss. He has ganked before, murder really, and seen the horrible messes left in his wake; dead families (maybe even worse is when one person survives, alone and broken), a gored monster that of course looks human, and the heavy resurfacing of hollowness.

He seeks these things out, the things no one should ever see, like he needs them because this is what he knows- side by side death.

When you live in a world colored by black and blue, red, the guts of the whole world burning, who do you cling to?

* * *

><p>Sam is made up of a million things.<p>

To be technical about it, Sam would be intelligence, height, wry (so subtle, always sharp) humor, rare smiles, and hunter's instincts.

To see Sam in the light of the only person who _knows_ him, is to be by his side for a lifetime- Dean has watched over him, has tracked his movements, breathes in the space around Sam, for every second he has to give (creepy though that may sound, it's plain unavoidable).

So Dean knows Sam.

The addiction to empathy, the need to reach out to people and _feel their pain_, even though Sam has enough of his own to tide him over until the last person on earth stops breathing. The sparseness of possessions, roaming for all of his life and rarely finding a physical, material thing he wants, and so far it is just a laptop that fills this slot. The movements- hands, always hands, awkwardly sprawled all over the place, whole arm movements and maybe yawning is the thing that seems to take up all of Sam (because it is not just inhaling, but twisting his head and moving his arm, and stretching like a tree shaking out leaves).

To be emotional about it, Sam is everything.

* * *

><p>Let's say he's on the move.<p>

The car is ready, _Sam's _car is ready (and this might be one of the strangest parts his life now. Seriously, it's all… shiny and gas efficient.), and they take route across country.

There are baby shifters and plagues and tween vampire romances.

It's a nuthouse like it's always been and the pressure is on.

To save that kid and to question this man and then everything is going haywire.

Because Sam says it is okay to torture a kid for info and he's part of the hunting family neither of them knew existed before (not to mention the boss is zombie gramps) and Sam just doesn't care.

The jobs are turning stranger and the rules don't apply anymore and the monsters are breeding, spreading out like choking vines.

Then Dean's turned and for a while, that is that.

* * *

><p>Bright lights, buzzing skin- like a hangover with an execution order at the end.<p>

So he tries not to think beyond, _don't eat_.

But he's losing things all over again- Sam's here, but not ever _really_ here, and anyways, he's got the Campbell family now.

Dean wonders how he could have been dumb enough to think he could have anything.

And that's when he knows he has to say goodbye to Lisa. Because she was his sweetest lapse and she doesn't deserve any of this. But closure, he'll give to her.

So he tries to make his last human decision.

All this pumping blood though. He can smell it.

* * *

><p>Of all the sideways crap hitting the ceiling, at least a vampire cure is in there. Dean is now de-monstered and he doesn't have to worry about dying until the next time things go wrong.<p>

But, it's a bitter thing, because he walked right up to the woman he loves and the kid he loves when he was a monster. And these the sorts of things he feared. Because it's hard enough to block out the world of evil from them, but it's nigh impossible when he doesn't know which side it will come from. This time, it was him.

* * *

><p>Line them all up. Every person- soul, human, ghost, demon (because it all whittles down to the same thing, at first).<p>

So you breathe, at least once and maybe a trillion times from there, and that makes you human.

Not to be a nancy about it, but this is a kind of an important point- humanity. Because this is the word that makes the line. What to hunt, what to kill. When human stops being human, you burn them _alive_.

It's the big names up here- God, Angels, King of Hell, and then everyone else- so it's easy to forget. But, he's the decider. He makes up the futures of a lot of people.

He's the one that draws the line in the sand and says what monster is. So, he guesses, the questions he should ask himself at some point (now is that time), are these:

Where does it start?

When does it end?

* * *

><p>He doesn't know Sam.<p>

The worry is that he never did. Because Sam is tainted, wrong by mistakes and wrong by loss of control. It' horrible, Sam's history laid out like facts, but _this_? Sam does not seem the same as the Sam before.

This Sam smiled when Dean got his death warrant.

This Sam is cold.

* * *

><p>A monster is a monster is a monster and there are so many out there.<p>

He's learning things he never needed to know and he's seeing the gruesome practice of monsters growing.

Alpha, Mother of All, and the place where they all come from.

There never was an end in sight, but it seems now that survival of the fittest is truly cutting humans out.

Maybe he really is just fighting the _natural order_ of all things, because fate (from the beginning with reapers and angels and prophecies), the dug up brother who came out of Hell wrong, Death and death- they're all against him.

So it is stacking up, and when even your own flesh and blood isn't human anymore…

What's the point?

* * *

><p>It snuck up on Dean.<p>

And he knows maybe it's that he overestimated their boundaries, or maybe it's the rotting pull of his truest self (Because he doesn't think he should be near them. But it's so hard to leave.), or maybe it's not over and he just has try again and again until something gives.

Because he's got a family now. He made the promise and found something outside of his brother and running and killing. And it's all pulling at him, giving him choices. Fight for family, for what's right, for everything. And he thinks maybe this is it.

He's going to hold onto everything. It'll be messy. It'll always be messy. But he wants this.

"Me and Ben can't be in this with you. I'm sorry."

Something gives.

* * *

><p>Sam's been lying to him.<p>

It's been this crawling time of defect as everything has turned against reality.

Because Sam has been smiling at death and raising guns at the innocent and staring at people like a slaughterer. Because, to Sam, it's not about the righteousness of hunting and the small slivers of salvation you can give. It's just a simple, base instinct to turn tables and watch the carnage.

But it's okay. Because he knows now. This isn't Sam.


	21. The Ending is a Painful Finale

**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**Warnings: I can't even tell anymore, but I'm going to go ahead and say this is gory and not good. Also, Lucifer's thinky thoughts are in here.**

**A/N: GEEZ LOIUS! This took forever to get out. UGGGH. I've been hella busy and was also trying to add onto this chapter one bit at a time, which makes it difficult to get into a writing flow, BUT ANYWAYS. Here it is. I can only hope it is good, because everything is a blur after these past few weeks. **

**Also, there will be two more full chapters after this one, requests will be fulfilled, and there will be an epilogue in similar style to the prologue.**

**Read, enjoy, review! :)**

* * *

><p>The devil is evil and tempts when he speaks.<p>

Satan brings pain.

Lucifer holds humanity misused.

And

Morningstar comes and there is nothing more.

* * *

><p>Just as Sam tires of torture, Lucifer tires of creating them. So sometimes, he likes to dig through the classics, let someone else hold the torch to Sam (this time, the phrase is used figuratively).<p>

Sam is held to the ground, pushed along when he is too weak to crawl. Lucifer watched as one of his sinners created a field spanning metal as the setting, and he watches still as Sam is torn apart by shining, iron (because isn't Sam ever so found of his iron?) nails as he edges along.

It is pain, and isn't it a sight?

* * *

><p>Hell is a special place.<p>

Lucifer made it patiently, anger shaping his world into one that was torn into sharp shards. The eons grow like fungus, taking with it new souls and demons, an overflowing fleet of terror.

This means that there is, of course, torture. Of which is unique, if one has grown through the ranks. Of which is painful, blunt and clumsy, for the rest of them.

Lucifer likes to think, and by this he means that he is right and proves his worth some days only because he likes to, that he is the best.

He knows the way to a soul's heart, just as he knows his way along their nerves and through their mind. He's a professional after all.

Still, he shares little of himself to this pathetic place, his whimpering, sodden pride and joy. He has shared a small bit of himself- when he feels especially gracious, but he has not felt the inclination to for a long time.

The one that comes to mind is of the first to fall at his feet.

He had named her Lilith and stroked her face with a grinder for half a century. By then, she was a gnarled mess of meat. Nothing else. It was, in retrospect, a clumsy first attempt, but he was a pioneer and it was a rather fruitful as first attempts go.

Because he did so churn her right, reforming the first sinner into demon and there was not a word for what he had done. Now there is: demons and hell and torture and wrong.

He was so proud.

He had never realized he could be prouder though and had grown compliant to his dimming whims of bringing pain. At least, until whispers floated to his humble little flame pit and he realized he was to be given a vessel. This was a millennium ago, but he did so improve his craft for the day it would happen.

So he built his hopes up, closing himself off from the rest of Hell and sharpening his skills with a select few.

Though he rarely repeats himself, he can't help but lament the loss of his waking dream of Hell on Earth.

He put so much of himself into it, that he feels a bit chipped. Which does bring him back, full circle, to the point.

Though he does hold a strong distaste for most things and is achingly aware of how he lost Hell on Earth, he has an elitist taste in sadism that is the perfect fit to Sam's permanent stay in Hell.

Now, his pride grows tenfold.

* * *

><p>Sam is in his hold again and Lucifer is beginning to think time is turning soon.<p>

Soon, he thinks to himself. He has plans for Sam. He always does, but it is a careful precision that he uses to introduce Sam to his world. Because Sam is not from here and his mind cannot truly _appreciate_ what Lucifer wants to introduce him to, if Sam has not learned the realms to which Hell spans.

Meanwhile, Lucifer puts his palm against Sam's back and feels the spasms of each shearing nailed impact Sam is graced with.

"You poor thing," he murmurs against the curve of Sam's spine (which is actually visible and sort of enthrallingly beautiful).

* * *

><p>Sam, a speckling of idea and hope and purpose, had once turned foolish "morality" towards wronging Lucifer and pushing them both down, down, down.<p>

How is a god meant to react to such utter treachery by his dearly departed (because that's what has become of Sam, fallen then dead; surfacing to conscious Hell)? Doubtlessly, Lucifer felt a vivid, lurid _fury_ as they sunk.

So he wanted Sam to hurt. And it was easy.

This is where his talent lies after all- and how could it not, when he is the all father of Hell, of the vindictive, thrashing lot that screams _more, more, more let us see the blood, will they break for me _(because they all scream it eventually)?

But this digression in the evil needling running through his Hell aside, he is good at it.

He unhesitatingly pushes Sam through gore and horror- starting small, getting worse, ebbing and flowing.

He chains Sam, gives him _choices_ (not to follow through on, but to suffer from knowing what these choices are) and Sam chooses death more often than not.

He takes pieces of Sam, shows Sam what it's like to not be Sam any longer (to show him what he has done to dear old Lucy, a blotch of dark taken from his destiny and _demoted_).

He shows Sam kindness, so Sam will be achingly aware of everything that still is (for there is an elsewhere away from Hell), but that he cannot have. And his favorite thing out of most things is when Sam comes to him, _crawling_ into opened arms, deliciously pathetic and what Lucifer might dream of if dreams ever came to a place like this.

Then (all at once and he's longed for this again and again ever since) he opens Sam up, _in every way possible_, and watches as the heart of his treasure disappears; draining away one spilt drop of blood at a time.

And what does Lucifer do? He lets Sam go, of course. He lets Sam wash away into the dreamy escape of heroism and he lets Sam reclaim the parts of him that were hanging off in torn bits of flesh and spirit. Because Sam must be Sam forevermore, but Lucifer will not simply _let him go_.

And now, Lucifer sees Sam is ready, so he is called back to finish the incomplete puzzle of Lucifer's beating, throbbing "heart" (may he borrow Sam's for this purpose?).

Sam does not realize the gifts he has.

Not many are so swollen with Lucifer's love.

* * *

><p>Sam is swollen.<p>

He wades, the ring of water circling his moving form and splashing with gentle drips. Buoyant enough, as in enough to stay upright and to flail all the while, he lasts for days.

It is quiet.

Foot in front of foot, sinking only so low but always moving, always _alive_ with feeling, the hope he shouldn't have had begins to drown.

He thinks to himself, because he has no other choice but to do think himself through this, _"One more second. Again. One more second. Again."_

This is something he has come to do over the course of ticking moment after moment, spanning too unlike Earth's flow to be familiar and creating an encompassing unknowing of everything- time, existence, breadth, and breath- without this.

So_ (not time…) _something passes with each submersion.

And that is how he counts now. The first submersion, the second submersion (he is on his fifth now)…

When a man is waterlogged, it is only through the same, always absolutely guaranteed process of mutilation that it can happen:

Submersion One: Water. It is a gentle introduction. Cool along his skin, soft and flowing. The water trickles, soothing in repetition.

Sam waits.

Submersion Two: Panic. The water is foreign, something to reject. Deep, gasping breaths overwhelm, narrowing vision and exemplifying the cool touch of watery death. The mind lifts him, the water lifts him, and it is all unreal. As if this might as well be it; as if he'd do well to return to that broken place where he once locked himself away to become the slave of Hell's God, despairing but somewhere other than here.

But then he takes one lungful mixed with water and the cape of distraction flutters away from him- a sort of whimsical absence on par with the delusions he undoubtedly suffers from.

He sees Dean who tells Sam that he might have been safe had he not been such a wretched disappointment. He sees Bobby who says he never felt quite right around Sam, tried though he did to push aside the hunter's instincts that screamed, _monster, that's what Sam is_, and treat Sam like his own.

Submersion Three: It, the firstly physical manifestation of waterlog, is when skin starts to peel, falling away around him and floating loftily around his watered form. Pruning, loosening and wrinkling, a man grows unrecognizable. Sam would howl in pain, if not for the water sloshing down his throat.

The fibers of skin become identifiable. Sinews unbraid and the skin expands into a loose sagginess that comes from this. The skin turns to pasty film like that of a snake's abandoned coating and raises- as if it has been injected with water running below skin.

He stands thickly, body growing as water seeps into him and his skin morphs into something that is wrong when worn on the human body.

This is called bloating.

* * *

><p>Let us call it a garden. Let us say that he is, well, accustomed to the pearling of red liquid fallen upon his flowers; blossoming, brighter than anything, a beacon amidst the shadows he has created.<p>

Let us admit that he does feel a certain deeply imbedded tenderness for brutality, as he does also feel an accompanying tenderness for scorn and hatred and his _soul mate_.

And so it is, as recognized and acknowledge by few though it may be, that he really does, truly, know of love.

Because he waits out his days- these wriggling, bludgeoned days- adoringly parading his all-time lover through the trenches along the palm of his gutted world.

Hints of whispers: this is his deceit, his teasing game swirling alongside Sam's growing madness.

The backhand of soul: this is his caress, strong then gentle then torturous and he finds the great depths to which Sam bruises to be sickly sweet, addicting.

The solitary moments: these are the times when Sam is well kept along his side, blind and soundless and almost a doll if not for his pure radiating pain that paralyzes everything except for the rubbing of flesh against flesh.

And he is the creator; an entrepreneur of the jaded, slaughtering variety, molding men and women and (his) lover alike into something not like they once were.

Sam is literally not how he once was. He is disgusting, drowning in Lucifer's pool and Lucifer thinks Sam can wait for a little while longer.

* * *

><p>Submersion Four: When nails start to unbind and pull away from nail bed, the lesser pain, as the sensitive first layer of nerve has been eroded away by this submersion, is realized.<p>

Sam watches as he is undone.

And now, Sam is on his fifth. And this is the one where he isn't alive in any sense of possibility, closer to dead really, but he is still aware.

His face- no- the _mass_ that was his face now caves in and grows with boils bursting of water; discolored eyes closed in by flaps of the falling membrane of his eyelids; lips suckling desperately for air, sound long gone.

His body is no longer a body. His body is separated, numbed and heavy. It flies away in tears of flesh and the water, unknown to him, fills with his blood and feces.

He is still losing control.

So he is close to dead, but not. Because this is Hell.

The sixth submersion never comes.


	22. Brother Waits for You

**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine!**

**Warnings: Swears.**

**A/N: Alrighty! One more chapter and the epilogue after this chapter!**

**Anyways, this chapter will fulfill part of the requests made by ****Naivaraeladrin and LilyBolt. :DDD**

**They both wanted to know what would happen to Adam when Sam got out of Hell, so hopefully I've done that request justice with this chapter. Both of them also wanted to see some Sam and Dean brotherly love and I'll do that one next chapter (THE LAST ONE, minus a short epilogue set up like the prologue was).**

**OH, ALSO! For this chapter, there is a fair bit of dialogue taken from the show. Those bits will be aligned center, with bold and italic differentiating between speakers. Italics that ARE NOT aligned center ARE NOT quotes from the show! :)**

**Read, enjoy (sort of...), review! :D**

* * *

><p>Once upon a time there was a little boy. He was small and smiled wide. His hair was unruly, though that never really changed. They called him Sammy.<p>

And once upon a time there was a big kid, one who was just a tad bit chunky and who maybe spoke a little too sharply. This kid was serious, held it all in. There were no words for loneliness or dark needs that were just a little too dark in his family. They called him Sammy, and he said,_ "It's Sam."_

In another once upon a time, there was a college kid with only mumbled answers offered about his past and he walked gawkily, but got where he needed to go all the same. This guy was just another smart, pre-law student, with a knife or two hidden up his sleeves and cover ups that rolled off his tongue like sympathies to mourning families did before the questions about cold spots and wacky lighting started up. They called him Sam.

And then, not once upon a time, but now, there was a man who was stuck in nightmares and who was gifted with the Great Wall of Sam. He lay prone upon a bed and rested like it was all he had left in him. They called him 'Sammy, please just wake up'.

* * *

><p><em>Well?<em>

**His soul is in place.**

_Is he ever gonna wake up?_

**I'm not a human doctor, Dean.**

_Could you take a guess?_

**Okay. Probably not.**

_Oh, well, don't sugarcoat it._

**I'm sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him.**

_What was I supposed to do? Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire?_

**Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it. Like it had been skinned alive, Dean. If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright.**

* * *

><p>Dean watches Sam. He sees Sam lying, so still and empty, right there in that bed. And the fan above them roars, blasting Dean with frozen air. And the light swings overhead, dangling and casting shadows. And Dean. He can't watch.<p>

Because this has happened before. Sam has been right in front of him, alive and bright and _Dean's_, and then gone. Just like that. Like it's a fucking joke.

Sam gets pulled away by horrors that feel like ghosts. As in, these horrors are close to reality, near enough to possible that you'll mistake them for real. But, they can't be. It's just a twisted, pumped up nightmare, forcing you to keep your eyes open. Like a ghost, these horrors are mutant versions of the life you used to have, the life you might get back, if you just hang on.

So, like a ghost, Sam is alive but not.

Like before, when Dean watched the blade of a pathetic, greedy soldier dropped into Cold Oak and torn from _hero's duty_ get slipped into his brother. Like before, when Dean was left with the shards of un-life and forced to make choices. Like before, when Dean chose the path no one should, the path that stole Bobby's breath away and that promised nothing good.

Like before, when Dean chose Sam over all else.

Dean does it again, now, as he waits for Sam's soul to fill Sam up and bring back his brother.

Dean knows Hell. He does, truly. Dean knows the need for it not to hurt anymore. Dean knows the pleasure of letting relented hurt turn into sadism. Dean knows how Hell changes people into things that aren't people. Dean knows that Hell is worse than anything.

Above all though, Dean knows that he needs Sam.

So he does it all over again. He plays the waiting game- the one where he watches over a Sam that might as well be a corpse, the one where bated breath pounds into him just how foolish he is with each faster and faster beating of his heart.

The payment for decisions washes over him, threatening sanity and life (not his, but Sam's), whispering to him that maybe, just maybe, Sam won't wake up this time.

Nothing is for certain yet, except that Dean is left waiting.

* * *

><p>Hold your breath.<p>

_One, two, three._

Release.

Do it again.

* * *

><p>See, Adam never really thought of the cabin as a home. He's never really thought of any place as a home. To him, home is just some piss poor idea that doesn't mean a damn thing. What exactly is it about drywall and shingles that's supposed to fill people up with all those gooey, nostalgic feelings of family and belonging?<p>

Adam stands in front of the door of his and Sam's cabin. He thinks to himself, _Alright Sam. Really taking your time today, aren't ya? Come on ya big lump. Hurry up, I already ate all the eggs._

And these things he thinks go around and around his head, like a mantra, except for the fact that mantras are stupid and Adam wouldn't be caught dead (he's already dead, sure, but it's a figure of speech. Jeesus.) putting energy into concerning himself about Sam and Sam's extracurricular activities.

Adam is totally not worried. He's just getting annoyed, because he doesn't like being caught off guard. Like, if Adam were to go "take a shower" in their "cabin" that Michael and Lucifer _obviously _don't know anything about, Adam would be so pissed if Sam just waltz on in like he owned the damned place and gave Adam a heart attack because Adam wasn't expecting Sam's sudden reappearance.

So yeah, Adam is getting pretty annoyed with waiting for Sam and thinks it would be nice is Sam were to stop taking his sweet old time on this scouting mission for the devil.

_Come on Sam. Just get your fucking ass back here. I think the sink is leaking._

* * *

><p><strong>Sam still asleep? <strong>

_Yeah. _

**He'll wake up. **

_Yeah._

Bobby promises that Sam will be okay. He lays it all out like Dean doesn't know just how tough of a son of bitch his brother is. Bobby says everything that Dean already knows.

Dean knows that Sam's had the weight of the world on his shoulders for at least a year _[ever since Lucifer was let out of the Cage]_, but probably longer and God knows how long. After all, Sam's the kid who's "_been running into burning buildings since he was twelve." _Dean knows that Sam won't turn away just because it's hard or because it hurts. But Dean isn't an idiot either.

He knows the body can only take so much, that the soul will take everything it's given, but spit out something twisted and mutilated and not-Sam in return. Dean can't hold onto the hope that Sam will be alright, not when he's never really found hope for much else. Dean's seen too much of the world, called Earth godless too many times, to have hope.

All Dean can do is talk a good game. And distract himself.

He asks Bobby about the job he knows Bobby is eyeing, it's right there, printed on the newspaper in Bobby's hand.

* * *

><p><em>Adam. Adaaaaam. Dear, sweet boy, where are you? <em>

_You can't hide forever! _

* * *

><p>Fuck.<p>

He's a stupid son of a bitch, isn't he? Sam isn't coming back.

The minute Adam woke up in this goddamn, _ridiculous_ cabin- that's the moment Adam should have clung to. The numbness. Now that- that was sweet; sickly syrupy and intoxicating, in retrospect. Adam didn't realize what a gift it was. Like he'd finally come home to his mom, and she was holding him and telling him all about love, how they were family and he was stuck with her.

That feeling that _Sam took from him_. Now Adam is alone and worth nothing. He's been stripped of anything bearable in fucking Hell. He's such a pussy, can't even bear to think of the pain he's endured, let alone go back to living that.

And fuck if he doesn't still, just a little bit, believe in Sam. Sam is a hopeless nut job, believing in Earth (a bearable living) on Hell and promising Adam the world (or at least a cabin). It's just, Sam would look Adam in the eyes. Sam would give Adam more attention than he ever got from John- a paranoid man, always distracted and acting like Adam was some sort _thing_ to showcase, inferior and so simple he could only handle a baseball game with the old man or he'd be spoiled, ruined, tarnished and die.

So yeah, Sam built Adam up anew- almost at peace and even willing to offer a little bit of kindness. That's what's become of Adam in this place and so Adam is good nowhere else on Hell.

Anywhere else and he'll fall to pieces.

And now that Sam's put all his pieces together, smoothed him out and tucked all the jagged edges of a broken Adam into place, now Sam is gone.

All Adam can do is close his eyes and wait. He's got time and nowhere to go.

* * *

><p><strong>Dean?<strong>

_Sam?_

Dean turns, and he can't think of anything but what's right in front of him. It's Sam. His brother is alive.

* * *

><p>Adam is close to sleeping, a sort of Hellish paradox and balancing act of exhaustion and fear, when he hears it. The door, the one he turned his back to because he couldn't bear to watch it any longer, is opening, its handle rattling as it is rotated.<p>

Adam turns, and he can't breathe, his mind runs blank except for one thought. It's Michael.

_We always knew this would happen, didn't we? Those Winchester boys ruined us once, and then they ruined us again when Sam took you from me. Come back Adam. Come back to the one place that wants you. This cabin's rotting from the inside out and I'll keep you safe, under the winds of my storm._

And Adam does. He walks away with Michael, listening to how the cabin creaks and falls in on itself. Nice and broken, jagged pieces of wood sticking out of the pile of his demolished home.


	23. Like a Reunion

**DISCLAIMERS: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**WARNINGS: Sad (for me). The end. Only the epilogue is left. Spoilers for 6x12 "Like a Virgin."**

**THING TO KEEP IN MIND:**

**A quote from Castiel in the end of 5x22 "Swan Song": ****You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise, no hell, just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have: peace... or freedom?**

**REQUESTS: **Naivaraeladrin**** and LilyBolt asked for a Sam and Dean reunion, so a Sam and Dean reunion they shall get.****

**A/N: **

**_Firstly: I want to thank everyone who has read this far, everyone who has followed or favorited my story, and especially give thanks for each and every review!_**

**Next: I have put a lot of effort and thought into this story, waiting and taking my time so that each chapter is to the best quality I know how to write and express. For that, I am going to truly miss this story. It has been quite the experience!**

**Lastly: There is a strong possibility that I will write a story about the time between season 7 and 8. Of course, it won't be a repeat, but it would be inspired by this story setup. I wouldn't start that one for a couple of weeks, because seriously. I will be mourning the end of this baby. Anyways! Plain curiosity on my part: who all would be interested in reading that? If you would be, check me out in a couple weeks to see if the story is there, or I can send out notices for anyone who wants to know when the first chapter is put out.**

**And, as always…**

**Read, enjoy, and review! :'D**

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><p><em>His heart is a hammer and it rattles around, scraping against his organs. And it feels as though his chest could split open, with everything just tumbling out. Because he remembers, oh god does he remember. But the whisper says forget and then he forgets all too happily and as something slips inside of him. It's blinding, tearing at him like a throbbing exposure across forever aches. It feels so raw.<em>

_**Don't scratch the wall.**_

* * *

><p>Sam awakens to darkness. He tastes air on his tongue, because it's like a tavern in here and the air must have its own blood alcohol level. Though, maybe the important part of that thought is that he doesn't know where here is.<p>

He's lying on softness- a mattress. And he hears noise- voices coming from above.

It dawns on Sam then. It's so obvious; he'd know this place anywhere. It's Bobby's bunker.

Everything is startlingly unfamiliar, even though everything is technically how it was. Sam's senses stretch themselves out, making everything seem off. It's hard to think. There's nothing _to _think about.

Without a worry nor a question nor a memory, Sam does the only thing he can and staggers his way up; raising himself towards the voices who must be Dean and Bobby.

* * *

><p>Sam sees him across a distance. Just feet away. Too far.<p>

It's as if Sam has been through oceans and drowning just to get here. As if the roars of agony carried him to here; and as if Sam would have given anything to see this just moments ago when the air was thicker and dead hands held him down and Sam was marked with nails dragged along his skin.

So Sam takes the steps he's not sure he can make and never once questions it. He lets the feeling of forever drift away, so he's lighter and can move. Then Sam closes the gap.

He holds his brother in his arms because this is the only moment he could ever dream of.

"Sammy," Dean says it like it is gold and prayer and Sam melts into the name.

When Sam turns, he sees Bobby.

Bobby is frozen. Somehow, Bobby is like glass. Sam's never thought of the man as delicate, not through anything- not after learning about his wife, not after Bobby lost his ability to walk, not after anything.

When Sam sees Bobby for the first time in what he knows has been long enough to have changed things, Sam is almost afraid to touch him.

Bobby stares him down, doesn't break eye contact or shield from Sam, but Sam can tell anyways. Something is broken.

Does Bobby remember the sharp crack of bone, the slow tear of muscle as Sa- Lucifer snapped his neck? Sam remembers.

It's one of the few things he does remember, leading to now.

Sam hugs Bobby anyways. Sam thinks if he lets Bobby go now, one of them will shatter into oblivion.

* * *

><p>So maybe, for a moment, Sam feels as if he is not all here. Maybe, for a moment, he feels that there is a huge <em>something<em> that is gone.

Empty. Void. Lurking.

And Bobby and Dean keep leaving him to talk. About things. Sam feels as though they're drifting, like he's drifting. It worries him. It almost... scares him. Like, a niggling of doubt means catastrophe. As if… He should be afraid that this isn't real? Like a trick.

But then again, Sam has been losing pieces of himself for eternity- no. Not that long, just a lifetime. He has- for _all of his __**life**_ - been losing himself.

So he decides he can live with this; as long as this doesn't change, as long as he has something to ground him.

That's what he has to do. He has to hunt, stay by Dean's side. He can't leave Dean, not like before, not like every time before. He won't ever forget Dean, a memory from above in Hellish times by his fath- no. That's not right either. He just… He just wants to hunt with Dean.

Then he finds out that there is a case- girls being taken- and he's got his answer. Dean is more than reluctant, but Dean doesn't understand. Sam needs this.

* * *

><p>They have to drive to get to girls gone missing.<p>

Sam scrunches down and sinks into the passenger seat with a relief akin to taking socks off at the end of the day. Losing all those layers, pulling them away to what feels right. He can breathe again.

Then the car starts and Dean's jetting off. He's a crazy, gas gunning driver, as always.

Sam's been tired. Bone deep, with weariness spreading across his skin. Now would be the best time to sleep. The smartest time.

He can't find it in him to let himself drift away though. He'd rather be here, present minded and watchful, with Dean.

Sam watches Dean. His brother stares straight ahead, resolutely and focused. Rare. And then there's the tense shoulders, the hum of his knee bobbing up and down, the faint lines that almost seem to be the first signs of burgeoning age.

Dean is weary and Sam doesn't know what to make of it.

Of course, there are all sorts of things it could be seeing as Dean always seems to be going through some form of long suffering. It's hard to deny the obvious though- Dean's focus is Sam. Dean acts like he thinks Sam will break at any moment and see Hell's visions tearing through the seams of reality.

He was there, for so, so long and he's fine. _He's fine_, in a way that Dean wasn't. But Dean worries, like Sam isn't fine.

* * *

><p>Sam has a nightmare the first night of their hunt and stay at some cheap motel. He awakens from it smoothly. There is no screaming or startled gasp, just Sam opening his eyes. If Sam were to talk about his dream, he'd get as far as opening his mouth and then closing it about five seconds later. The nightmare slipped away, like a breath blown out.<p>

There's just a lingering feeling. It's unlike anything he can remember feeling, but it's familiar. It feels recent and long lasting and etched into his psyche.

Sam doesn't think too hard on it, because he wants to sleep and he's been so tired ever since he woke up from what he's told was a semi-permanent stay in Hell.

If Sam had thought just a smidgen longer on it though, he would have decided that the nightmare was soothingly frightening. Because the familiarity of darkness is with him, and it's sparking an icy kinship, whispering fondly about things from not too long ago. Telling him what happens will happen. It's all up to chance and unavoidable.

But Sam does not think about it. Instead, he draws in closer on himself, blanket and bedding and pillow holding him together; grounding him.

Like an ache in the back of his eyes, like a light bulb of idea is urging him, searing his eyelids but not quite surfacing, his mind is gone.

* * *

><p>Sam doesn't really have much going on, but it feels like too much. Like maggots are crawling inside his mind and interrupting normal thought, he can't quite seem to get a grip on the reality. He keeps wandering down passages within his mind, wondering and dreaming about black memories. As if there are things that are engraved into his mind, but he can't see them- like they were blacked out.<p>

Now though, he feels like this case might not be the first strange one he's faced. He's looking through Dad's notebook (his and Dean's now) and feels a ghosting of past action cover him.

He can't shake the idea that he's been on hunts during this last year and a half when he couldn't possibly have been, because he was in _Hell_.

_[There in front of them is a monster. It is gruesome, with a face that is a withered pile of wrinkles and bulbous growths. Its body is like a man, but covered in glamorous scarring, deep and intentional.]_

No. The word skin walker almost pulls itself from Sam's throat. As if… As if he and Dean hunted one?

He asks Dean, as if he thinks there's an answer that will strengthen his moment of crazy. Of course Dean says it didn't happen.

As quick as the thoughts had appeared, they are gone, once Dean answers him, almost like they were never there in the first place.

Thoughts race; quick then gone. His mind is a cavern, but this is good.

* * *

><p>Things like this don't last.<p>

There is nowhere to hide. Not ever. Sam's known that for a long time- through bated breath and the smog of sin, he's known this.

What he urges Castiel to tell him turns out to be a nightmare. One where Sam is all of the things he's never wanted to be, all of the things he's feared he could be. The only difference is that it isn't the broiling anger gifted to him by demon that's blazed everything in his wake, but his innermost practicality.

He's told it was just a shell of him on a twisted auto-pilot that ruined it all. That he's not responsible, that his soul is saved. But it was still Sam. It was Sam's melon, Sam's arms and Sam's blades that shed blood and stained the homes and the families and the highways he's crossed. It's Sam's fault and Sam's burden.

So when Dean tells him about "The Great Wall of Sam," there's nothing to it.

Sam just stares Dean down, a building sorrow for his brother who still clings to such futile hopes, and Sam knows he will be bared to memories eventually.

He can't hide from this, not when buildings are burning and he's the arsonist.

* * *

><p>If Sam is to hold onto anything, it will be this.<p>

The yard is huge and the house is a modest maze. Walls stretch so that books can climb up and up and up. The floor might be made of wood, but it's impossible to tell with all the dust, ancient rugs used to cover sigils, and emptied bottles sprawling across.

The salvage yard is better fit to be a battle field than any part of a business on the up-and-up. More monsters than Sam can count have tried to duke it out there, only to fail miserably because Bobby sure as hell won't be beat on his own turf. Then there's Rumsfeld, who practically only knew how to breathe in dirty, old car air. The sweetest dog Sam's ever known, who perhaps had died the most undeserved death of anyone. Bobby swears he still hears _that damned dog_ whining for food on some mornings.

The stairs have scuff marks that Bobby either never got around to cleaning, or didn't want to forget. Sam knows he and Dean are responsible for a great deal of those marks. One is from when Dean was pushing Sam off the edge of the railing and promising that he meant it when he said he'd push Sam over. Dean hadn't meant it, but it was an ironic twist of fate when he ended up falling off in an awkward moment of panic and mistimed elbow jabbing.

The office is closed with heavy doors. Sam remembers the years of staring at that door as if it had magic behind it (it does- books and more books on lore and spells and Sam will never read them all. He couldn't if he tried; the only dead language he's comfortable with is Latin.). Sam remembers the hours spend in there, coughing up dust mites, once the doors were open to him.

The house has horrors hidden between the walls, and Sam knew the smell of blood from this place far before he ever went on his first hunt. The house is like family. Him and Dean and Bobby and every other person who no longer walks the Earth, all being pulled to this place.

It's been a long day and Sam's near about to explode, but when he closes his eyes tonight, he finds lucidity on his mind. A happiness stronger than anything he's felt in what he thinks must be a long time comes to him.

Sam is home.

* * *

><p><strong>FINAL AN: As best as I can explain, this is what this story is about:**

**It's all inevitable. You can't control anything. There's always going to be loss and tragedy. You'll always be forced to keep going even when you can't. You'll see that things can always get worse. There is no rest, and boy, are you wicked- cursed, bloodthirsty, tortured. But even if you don't believe in a word as silly as hope, even if there is nothing sacred and the world is godless, you'll still find one precious thing in this world. And that is family.**


	24. Epilogue (And They All Lived Ever After)

**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**Warning: I updated with two chapters today. Make sure you didn't miss chapter 23!**

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><p>There once was a boy who didn't believe in fairy tales, saving dreams for just his brother.<p>

Life was bloody and he learned that his fists could pull him through. He learned to grin like he meant it, to wear bravado like armor, and, above all, to take care of his brother.

Then came more anger and more pain and he learned there was destiny. Somehow, he was the world's savior.

He dreamed of demons. He dreamed of angels.

Hellish memory pushed him along until he stumbled upon fiercest self-hatred. As he fell, another rose to contend with fate, even as the boy begged for it not to be true.

This is the moment the boy lost everything. His innocence fell to blade. His brother hurled himself into lies of blood and addiction. The angels swore on Heaven that the world could burn.

And then there was the moment afterwards- he saw his brother fall, as he himself floundered for air. His brother swaggered towards sharp promises, sure of decisions just as he was sure of the weaknesses within the boy.

Curses and bloodlines came into play, forcing their hands and giving them choices.

The boy was not strong enough, so his brother fell further. Straight to Hell and farther still, hand in hand with the devil.

All that was left was to fulfil promises and pretend that he could live with that.

Not that he could. Not that he ever could.

So the boy's losses made him a man. He raised a son and held dreams of caged brother close. He let war settle like deposits on the bank, there but bone deep.

He was eased into compromise, the throes of responsibility for family reverberating within him, when his brother made a shady return.

He was man as he slowly lost everything. Again. He lost family to strange brotherhood, wounds and secrets anew festering into something worse than he knew.

Then there was nothing left, for a time. Just keeping his head down and hunting.

But then the day came- he learned his brother was without a soul, and the man knew what to do.

Death raised his brother, _his real brother_, to Earth. They were a team again, unstoppable or damn well too stubborn to ever be stopped for long.

And life went on.

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><p><strong>And with that, reader, I bid you adieu.<strong>


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